A billion things to write about I had a blog. I planned it for several months before starting it. I even bought the domain. It was supposed to center on work-life and be a public platform on which I'd develop my thought leadership. And then I burnt out. Or something like that. I call it ' I was fatigued ', because I wasn't and am not burnt out. My brain functions alright (maybe not equally as rapidly as before I began my two-week sick leave, but it hasn't been impaired cognitively), I sleep alright, I am looking forward to going back to work to some extent (I hate that qualificator due to its overuse in my BA classes by eighteen-year-olds too young to discuss the inevitability of WWI. But I digress). What fatigued me, though, was the sudden and unexpected influx of memories of childhood traumas caused by or related to my mother. Given that my sister (younger of course, my mother's pet) knows the address of my other blog, I cannot speak too freely about anything