proper corona admin, vol 104 - out of shape

It's been about a month since I returned from a four-week writing break, but I would argue that I'm still returning to peak writing fitness. Tonight, for example (October 6), is the first time I've written on four out of five nights since the end of May, speaking to some of the burnout that in hindsight was always the logical outcome of my pandemic schedule. But in addition to the volume, there is also the more basic question of forming words into the chunks befitting a TOA post. Take this very sentence, for example. I had no plans to write such a thing until about five minutes ago, when I realized that I needed more time to finish the piece. No problem, but this left me in a pickle because I had thought it would be finished tonight so that it could go up tomorrow.

So now what? There are things on my mind, subjects of sentences on the page, but nothing is predicated. Where is that familiarity I once knew about the process of connecting one word, one line, one thought to the next? I feel like I did this morning, stumbling into two colleagues who were sitting outside a café, two people I had not seen, in person, for over a year and half, trying to get caught up in the eternity of ninety seconds, a minute and a half wondering just what I had done in the past when I knew where to look, knew what to say, and knew when it was time to stop.