Lately, I've had two full days a week, bought and paid for, for writing.
Around the same time I gave myself permission to 'work' four days a week and spend the remaining three with Aa (as opposed to the converse), I also started a creative writing course focused on poetry.
And I have never done so much joyful reading and writing, discovering new poets, discovering new poems.
To the outside world, things look much the same. I neglect everything but the essentials. Which means sort-of-kind-of cleaning the house and not calling friends and family.
The level of neglect is the same, but the reason is completely different.
Instead of racing from deadline to deadline, from obligation to obligation, from meeting to meeting, I'm writing what I want, mostly when I want.
And while I know this period of beautiful haze - where I am joyful about my work and the work of others, about the neglected but undeniable power of poetry - will not last, that the conditions that made it possible will not last, I am enjoying the space I carved out of my life.
I know now that this space exists, now, and that I can return to it.
And even though what I am writing about is difficult and awkward, there is still (immense) pleasure in the practice.
So if you've been neglected (as per usual), I'm sorry. But I'm also not sorry at all.