I wish I could say that in the two months I stopped blogging, I had done something life-changing. Found the meaning of life, or realized its importance. Cured cancer, or wrote the Great American Novel. Maybe just took a bubble bath and hugged someone who needed it.
Instead, I slept too much and worked not hard enough.
Listened to soft Swedish music turned up loud when I should have been listening to the people who matter.
Watched a deluge of 50s movies and repainted life black and white.
Treated myself to a chocolate a day because everyone deserves a couple minutes of bliss. Sometimes forgot to count.
Published twice in small gigs and both times slipped while doing a victory dance.
Stopped napping and started sleeping when the knots between life and death and time and infinity frayed in my dreams.
Played chess across the state lines and left the ditches full of lovers and exhaust fumes.
Prayed.
