I have failed.
Miserably.
This blog has become my mistress who went a little crazy and I ignored her in favor of my regular life. The lure of her was too much to ignore and I was quite magnetically drawn to her, unable to avoid contact. And then one day, I realized it was work. And I had too much work in the realm of reality to truly give her the attention I wanted. So it became easier to ignore her in favor of things like trying to advance my career, working on a college education, and oh yeah, being unceremoniously evicted by the landlord's daughter (aka new landlord) and buying a house.
I know that's selfish, but that's the life of an only child. Looking out for number one and letting the rest fall to the wayside. And it's not like this blog has been my sugar mama, she didn't pay any bills for me, she didn't tell me it would all be okay. But, in the least, she's still here and willing to take me back. It makes me look bad to come crawling back, exposed to the world as a fraud, but I can't stay away.
I really intended to get back her sooner and soothe my blog's ego, but then it just became more fun to paint, walk the dog in a new neighborhood, install new pieces in the house, not get electricuted doing some of those installs and well, relax and drink a beer every once in while.
Plus, the time away really gave me time to think about what I want this writing to generally be about. The good news is that it really reaffirmed that this place is what I intended it to be, a shining light into my soul. An introspection into what I think and how I develop those thoughts. That's not to say there won't be stories about other topics, as I long suspect the best things I will ever write here have already been placed and are solely about Lisa.
But hey, if my homepage at Comcast.net can claim that a story about the fastest texters in the world are meeting to face off in competition is "newsworthy" (moreso than say, news out of Syria) then I guess anything I can cobble together should be deemed as extraordinarily important also. In fact, going forward, I may just start creating new words and assigning meaning, because hell, all the rules in journalism seem to be going to gloushpail (pronounced glau-shpale; noun; definition: the poop from the mythological Phoenix; used in a sentence: Hey! Dave just made up the word gloushpail and even created a backstory for it. I wonder if he thought about assigning a Latin or Greek root to it too? Gloushpail.)
So this is where I've ended up. Didn't want this to be too long; it is in fact kind of like going back to the gym after a few months off and the brain, like anything else is a muscle (mine being one that has atrophied from paint fumes).
The good news is that I have dozens upon dozens of partially started entries just waiting for me to finish them. It's like being provided the empty house and all I have to do now is go in, hang some artwork, not get electricuted and create a few new reetandas (words).
