After spending a couple of hours last night preparing documents to send to London (regarding the great move (or not) this autumn), I ended up on the couch watching the Fleetwood Mac concert on PBS with a double shot of Bushmills single malt Irish whiskey (“aged 10 years”)–on the rocks (of course)–with tears in my eyes. Stevie Nick‘s “Beautiful Child” always does that to me since “I was only 10.” Here’s an excerpt:

Sleepless child

There is so little time

Your eyes say yes

But you don’t say yes

I wish that you were mine

You say it will be harder in the morning

I wait for you to say, just go

Your hands, held mine so few hours

And I’m not a child anymore

I’m tall enough

To reach the stars

I’m old enough

To love you from afar

Too trusting … yes?

But then women usually are

I will do

As I’m told

Even if I never hold you again

Well, that plus the stress of trying to make a decision about London. After several weeks of bouncing from one extreme (I’m definitely going, come hell or high water) to the other (I am absolutely, most definitely not going), I’ve settled somewhere in the middle where I’d be happy to go and happy to stay. And I think that this position is probably more dangerous to my sanity because ultimately I have to make a decision. But right now I’m thinking I should probably pour another drink.

Instead, it’s time to pop a sleeping pill to help battle the nightly insomnia I’ve suffered from this entire week. Tomorrow looks busy. Sigh. But Saturday morning I’m taking a meditation class at the Crow Collection, and I’m looking forward to that.