Three weeks in

The hardest part of winding down is not to go too far so that the brain
becomes moribund, the adrenalin levels drop too low,
the synaptic gills close and filter nothing.
I am struggling to maintain a balance and accept that I
don't have to do everything with in a restricted
time frame.

There is time to consider,
no deadline to meet (as yet) but I still feel pressure,
probably of my own making;
that not enough is produced in the time I have (for whom?);
not enough artistry, creativity, revealed in the hours available.
It is as if I am still constrained by the greater demands
of the work place and its insistence on subordinated self-expression,
which had to be crammed, concentrated into snatched moments.

These moments are in danger of expanding to a degree where their bounds
could become invisible, non-existent and therefore perilous.