My sugar intake has been high this week, and so followed my anxiety level.  Or is it the other way around?  I’m exhausted and fidgety and unsettled.

I just can’t figure out how to squeeze everything in to a 16-hour day so I can still sleep for 8.  The math doesn’t work.  And there is no rest for the weary on the weekends, either.

The last of the Christmas chaos has been tucked away safely in the attic, and regular life resumes.  Pink hearts, followed by pastel-colored eggs and American flags… whoosh.  I can feel the sweltering heat and blazing sun on my skin.  I want to let the dawn wake me up and eat dinner in the daylight, while the darkness is reserved for only the deepest sleeping hours in the middle of the night.

Cold bones, happy heart.

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