My life used to be such a blur: writing a book a year, parenting, wife-ing, cooking, exercising. I spent big chunks of life in my car driving as fast as I could. Now I walk most places. It's weird. Seen this way, the trees and bushes and flowers I walk past look too three-dimensonial, like they're somehow fake, part of a movie set. I've seen flowers and birds and insects I never noticed before.
Recently I had been puzzled by the apperance of crocuses - a flower I associate with the first few days of spring - in people's gardens. Was it a sign of global warming? But my husband says there is a fall crocus. There must have always have been fall crocuses, but I didn't have the time or the peace to notice them.
I've dreamed of these days since 1992, when I finished my first novel (which didn't sell, but that's another story). It's wonderful to have my life back. No more annual reviews, no more meetings, no more people who are above me but whom I don't agree with, no more watching yet another reorg, no more buzz words.
And no more paychecks. This may not end up working out in the long run, but I sure hope it does. Because it's wonderful to have my life back.