Today, I shall try to adjust my short-term expectations. I've wanted to do too much, dizzyingly so. I've wanted to start and complete too many knitting projects, read too many books at once, and write too many words.
I have, actually, knitted 2 1/2 chemo hats, played with some lace patterns, and unearthed the sock I abandoned a few weeks ago. I've read Anne of Green Gables and a few chapters of The Madwoman in the Attic, as well as some short stories. I've written some letters. I've also gotten myself to work, (almost) every day.
Anxiety and racing thoughts don't make anything better. Perhaps my hypersensitivity is hardwired, but so is my intelligence - so maybe I can (at least) be mindful of this moment, this reality, and this dollop of energy.
Wish me luck.