Was sure I hit ‘publish’ but maybe I dreamed it.

Three days into an overdue vacation, my mind still turns to questions: How are they doing at work? How far behind are they? Who is looking after returns?  My body looks the other way. Immediately seeking my bed, illusion of rest. Eyes fixed on the ceiling, I abandon hope of sleep and give in to playing games, matching pieces, learning words, pretending I will do some cleaning when I get up. 

There’s a gap somewhere between responsibilities I’ve taken on and those I own. A glitch in the system holds me in place. Almost. When I’m very quiet, I feel the tremor, nerves, muscles, something else return, return, Some imagined starting line that made sense but has no place in memory. Disturbing. I like when things line up – dot to dot, puzzles edges, a ruler line that doesn’t slip. 

The weight of this week does not compute. I see the days, the dates, the times. I coloured things by categories, try to work inside these lines. What a laugh. I ended up with ten days off rather than five because my lines don’t work, did not line up. Ninety days of saved up hours became five days with time on my hands and another five for family and friends. 

Silence may be golden to some, but it spins my wheels with nowhere to go. There is plenty to do, I haven’t done, and only three trips to blue box down the hall. Four carboard boxes sit in my car, waiting. If I fill them, we can take a run to the local Thrift, and another stop for outside and trees. Uncomfortable. I don’t know why. 

I’m wasting time, not yet into the day, wondering if a list would help and if I asked it, does AI overload?