The title about sums things up for the last few weeks, too much treading water, not enough diving in. Not enough production, too much work.

Trying to keep my head up, knowing my shit isn’t the mountain I make it out to be, but rather a tiny pile easily ground underfoot, if only I could tolerate the scent of shit lingering on the limb.

I have friends facing mountains of their own, and doing it with better grace than I.  I look to them for example, try to stride forward in similar manner, but feel chained to events and concerns that should not weigh so much, yet drag me, inert, gasping, to a standstill as the world passes.