Interlude

I hardly know what to write about now that the drama swirling about my Runaway has come to an abrupt end. Nothing else seems quite so, um, arresting, as that topic. The elder son's legal trouble is causing me no little tension, but it's awaiting trial, so I can hardly publish my innermost thoughts on the matter.
Meanwhile, my overworked adrenaline production has slowed to a more manageable pace, and I've been looking about in awe at all that I have neglected  over the past month. Without the heightened excitement of the fight-or-flight response, I lack sufficient energy to get all caught up. Housework simply doesn't get my blood pumping like I would wish. There's a steadily shrinking list on the counter, though, so I am making progress.
We have another weekend filled with out-of-town guests, so you know that I won't be getting anything done in the next 36 hours. It's ok. If the lights are low and you squint a bit, the house almost looks clean.