I didn’t mean to stop.
I like blogging. I really do.
But shit, as it tends to do, happened.
Kids. Kids who are getting lippier, and bigger, and funnier by the nano second. Kids who I felt like giving more attention to.
And then, for a while, I got to be away from those same kids. The freedom was enough to simulate drunkenness. Actual, honest to goodness, reeling drunkenness.
I was figuring out some wife-type things. Because the absence of those kids made me look at some stuff, stare at it, eyes blinking, in a “now who did you say you were, again?” kind of way.
I started going to bed early. Like, before midnight.
I went to some concerts and remembered that damn, I used to be so wrapped up in music, and when did that go away? And if I’d forgotten music, what the hell else was I neglecting?
And at the end of the day, I just didn’t feel like writing any of it down.
Today, not one but two people, within an hour of each other, took the plunge, asked me if I was OK.
I’ve been absent before. For not so awesome reasons.
But there’s nothing to worry about. I didn’t mean to scare anyone. I’m OK, and I’m here.
And I want to write, now.