It is a strange sort of drowning to be buried in tasks, more like digging sand than being underwater. Each scoop of progress sends more sliding down into the area I’m trying to clear. But today I have cleared a little bit of space. I can tell because I am typing a blog post instead of scrambling to get things done. Tomorrow will contain more scramble, but today, for a moment, I can sit still and remember that sometimes I get to be a writer. My goal for all the scrambling is to earn enough money so that I can have more writer time. More gardener time. More nothing-in-particular time. Since those are the point of it all, I have to make sure that the endless sandslide (or mudslide, or flood) don’t hopelessly bury the very thing I’m hoping to save.