Stewing in my juices

Ok, I don't know what it is. Most likely has something to do with the recent lessons in the fragility of life, the temporary (time-based) nature of everything dear, but I'm getting little done art-wise. At least overtly. Still trying to get my life routines back on track and keep being derailed. I'm trying so hard to "be here now" but do have expectations that I make plans and stick to them, too. Reconciling those disparate ideas is a challenge right now.
The gift of menopause is supposed to be the clarity and intensity of feeling, unrelieved by the previous experience of three weeks out of four spent all docile and accomodating. Got it. I've got the unrelieved intensity. Unfriendly "friends" are being jettisoned. Room for new friends is being readied. Ideas for paintings are written down. Conversations are deeper. I become more transparent. Clutter is boxed up and moved out. I've been home six days and I haven't painted a lick. Did those portrait sketches Tuesday, but haven't painted. A friend died while I was in Phoenix. The services were over before I returned. Her voice is on my voice mail. She was younger than I.
I'm feeling such an urgency to not waste a moment. Not miss anything. Not squander my time with anyone, anything not infused with love and authenticity. Hot flashes wake me and I jot down the images which are delivered simultaneously. All I can do is pay attention to it all and allow the transformation as it happens. The painting will come soon, I know.