I'm empty. It's January 2, and I am empty.
I will scroll briefly back over the past week or so to give you the idea. Monday before Christmas was busy with work and with planning for holidays. Christmas Eve and Christmas day were lovely, really lovely, full of family and kids and eating tasty things, and I was tired by the end, but Thursday was wired and anxious because of a very large pile of work with a very short deadline. No rest for the wicked, nor for the poor tired and depleted writer working for pennies. Working very hard on Friday. Lots more family on Saturday. Also on Sunday. Also working very hard to make a deadline of Sunday night. Last awake in the house, I actually managed it. Finished off all the work.
And then the virus came. I suppose it was a virus, eating my stomach up for three days and making me feverish and pathetic, weak and tired and ill and incapable of caring much, until yesterday. It's going away now, but I'm tired and rumpled. No proper rest yet, barely any food all week, no good exercise, little fresh air. I'm not sick any more, but I still feel pathetic.
I'm empty. Empty of every kind of energy and intention, mental and physical and spiritual and emotional. I'm low. I'm weak. I'm teary and at a loss. I'm empty.
Empty is good. I'm choosing to call empty good.
You know how I would have wanted to start 2014? Both feet on the ground. Full of plans and schemes for how everything is going to be different this year. It wouldn't have mattered. Plans and schemes? What the hell do I know about making anything different? I don't know what I'm doing and I may as well admit it. It's about time: time to get out of my own way, time to stop scheming and start listening, time to stop planning and start learning. Time to make some space for some better ideas. I have the architect of the universe on my side, what am I doing making the plans? Now there's room for some real plans.
Heya, Jesus. It's January 2 and I'm empty. I've finally got room for you to start filling me up.