How I'd kick my feet up and read a book.
How I'd play Billie Holiday in the evenings with a glass of red wine.
How time was distributed equally between family, friends and myself.
How my fingers felt with paints all over them.
The way they felt after the pencil left a dent from drawing.
How I spent three hours in the morning working out.
How I seemed to have plenty of things to blog about.
And how I was getting quite good at keeping this space up to date.
How I took lots of photos.
How I dreamt of other things except work.
And how I had that extra large glass of vodka with friends with no guilt.
Why is this guilt even here?
I miss seeing the kids all day.
How I had them by my side while I worked.
How I was there for every 'first'. So far I've missed most of hers.
How I ate lunch with them and not at my desk.
How I never counted hours before I saw them.
And how I didn't have to miss them so much.
It's been six months.
So perhaps it's the six month blues.
So maybe this is all it is.
Or maybe I just need a break.
Because I'm tired. Really f**king tired.
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