Recently I have been contemplating the impetus for writing. Or in this case, not much writing. And I can't help but wonder if I need to be depressed, or in some overly dramatic place in order to write? Must I be lonely? Surely that can't be true.
But, the "problem" is that I am happy. Those are strange words to type or to say. That happiness is a "problem". Because it isn't. It's wonderful. It's good. It's all those things we hope for and hope it will be.
Is my life perfect? No. Do I have everything I want? Ehh... yes and no. The most important things, most definitely. But it would be nice, for example, to have the CHOICE to work or not work, rather than just not work.
Although, if I were smart, I'd realize that at the moment writing apparently IS work... and then I'd just do this.
I'll get back on the horse. When I started this blog, I thought about the things I liked most in a blog and tried to keep them there. One of them was frequency. You hate to find someone whose voice you enjoy and then have them not write very often. You want to read it frequently. It's like handwritten letters found in a mailbox. It's nice to receive them. (I get very few now here in Canada... postage has become QUITE expensive!)
The other thing I tried to remember when I first started writing this blog was that not all my entries were going to be winners. And that it was okay. I'd rather have a few bad posts than no posts at all. So, I'll try to get better about reincorporating this as a habit.
Forgive me my absence, dear readers. I am not dead...