All is quiet - so quiet it's disturbing. After the storm of my meltdown, the fire of my anger, the zest of my determination to reach my goals and the thrill of my successes, I find myself in a lull - a dip - a sleepy hollow.
I'm in-between stages, in middle-land. My volunteer training is over, Rock Choir has finished for the summer (except for our performance on Sunday) and I've more or less finished with writing; not deliberately - but promising leads are drying up, my pitches are half-hearted and no-one is getting back to me. So I sit here, metaphorically twiddling my thumbs, dying to get on with something, eager to get my teeth into some kind of work to regain a sense of purpose and usefulness, but with the schools breaking up next week and my plans to return to academia in September, there seems to be no point.
If I'm honest, there are things I could be doing. Things need to be done around the house, plans need to be made, contacts need to be chased-up, academic books sit on the table waiting to be read, articles (which exist in my head) wait to be pitched and written. Part of me would love to get all fired-up again, tackling each job with gusto and getting the satisfaction from getting something done. But I can't make myself do it; my motivation is about as droopy as an ancient balloon.
That's one of the problems working from home. There's no-one around who can encourage, direct, criticise, chivvy, or generally gee-up. Work colleagues are virtual, the readers of my prose are faceless - if they exist at all - and feedback is limited. It's easy to get dispirited, to sink into the comforting embrace of sloth and idleness and even easier to justify not doing anything.
So .....if there is anyone out there, reading this now, who feels like writing a little comment, I'll know I'm not alone in cyberspace and who knows, I might just be prodded into action.