Snow flurries today, which look pretty and have even managed to accumulate in scattered puffy mounds in the grass. Nothing's sticking to the roads, of course, and the forecast indicates it'll likely melt away in the rain tomorrow or Wed., if it manages to last even that long. Still, it looks pretty coming down.
The extended holiday visit to the brother-in-law's had pleasant moments scattered amongst mind-numbing boredom and an overall antsy longing to be in my own home doing my own things. I rank it "tolerable and over" and am moving on.
Apparently my bout of semi-depression hadn't passed entirely last weekend--I was still feeling traces of it Saturday and yesterday and today. Some of it comes from my tendency to get angry with myself when I don't suck it up and toe the line as well as I think I should, emotion-wise. I sometimes have to remind myself that it's OK to not be in perfect balance emotionally. There has to be joy, in order to remind ourselves that life is a joyful thing, and to have those joyful moments to look forward to and keep ourselves going. But there also has to be sadness against which we can measure our joy. I'm not sure if it's human nature or borne of our society's obsession with some mythical state of perfect happiness, but I tend to obsess over every little thing I don't handle exactly like I think I should have. I had to repeat my "you're obsessing again" mantra a few times the last few days--"let it go, let it go, just let it go."
On the writing front, I added over 3,000 words to Crowmaker during my three writing days last week. Word count is hanging right around 500 today. I'm wavering between "I suck" (brought on at least in part by Strange Horizon's rejection notice on "Wings," which I got last night) and "This is really pretty good. And I think I might know how to finish it, too." Which is, as far as my experience has shown, pretty much how this writing stuff goes.