Discombobulated.

I have no idea what day it is, or what date. I'm on leave this fall, and my days seem endlessly to repeat themselves: write, read aloud to self from screen, mutter to self while pacing the house trying to find the right word or sentence construction, back to writing...and then of course revising, which is its own kind of hellish endless loop. In some ways I'll be glad for next term to begin--its structure, the linearity of a syllabus, and how teaching will necessitate my talking to other human beings.