I’m here, I’m here! I haven’t contracted the Bubonic plague or fallen off the Brooklyn Bridge (I did walk across the Brooklyn Bridge once so it could have happened). Nothing earth-shattering occurred to cause me to stop writing and communicating to all of you. I swear it.
So, what DID happen to me, then? I mean, it has been nearly a lifetime since I’ve last published a post (in case you are dying to know, that lifetime ago was August 8th).
I’m going to be straight with you, you know, shoot from the hip (do we know what that even means?):
I cannot chew gum and walk at the same time
That’s about it. After I went back to work full-time, I swear it was like someone took a sledge hammer to my life.
Or the proverbial Mac Truck drove right down the middle of me. Leaving my guts all over the sidewalk.
On that sidewalk are also dirty toilets, a sink full of dishes and two weeks’ worth of laundry. Never mind what that thing is growing inside my refrigerator. I suppose it could be The Kid’s science project, but I’m afraid to ask. Because I have a sneaking suspicion it isn’t. Call it intuition.
When I get home from work, and after I make dinner (yes, I do that. It takes the last hair of energy I have left but we do have to eat and take-out every night will only put about 50 pounds on me a minute. And besides they say it is bad for you and I can’t do that to my family. Although, so is my cooking, so…), I leave enough DNA on the couch I can actually be cloned. (Not a bad idea. I hope she does windows.)
I have a lot of respect for women who can do it all…raise a family, keep the house in order, all that crap…while working at the same time. You are rock stars and make the rest of us look like slugs. Thank you for that.
I am here to say I have started to peel myself off the leather davenport, so worry no more. It took a couple of months, but I’ve devised a plan to get myself back among the living and do what I love most — write.
Who am I kidding? I’m not a planner. There is no plan. How about I just refer to it as “I’m Getting Off My Lazy Ass and Doing Something?” Works for me.
I’m back and I’m on a mission. As soon as the blood finds it’s way to my brain and I actually know what I’m going to write about. I suppose I have also been in Writer’s Block Hell. It’s a place.
Next, I’ll tackle the toilets. Maybe. So what shall I name her? You know, my clone?