Told myself that I would go back to writing more often, and cut this hiatus crap already. But such is life, and its tendency to destroy resolutions. No small matter, too, when you write for work as well as pleasure, and the occasional catharsis.
Somehow, for me, things and thoughts always fall into their odd places on Sunday. Sabbath debates be damned, it is indeed some of the best time for catching up with yourself, after the blizzard of things (people, places, objects, events, etc.) that always seems to happen during the Fridays and Saturdays. And as always, it’s the nights when thoughts are impregnated, and all manner of manifestations are birthed the world as a result.
Perhaps these efforts are simply a routine breaking of routines: writing-nonwriting, doingthings-thinkingaboutthings, social-solo, and so on. Attention deficit, yes, but it keeps things from getting boring. And if you know me, you know how easily I get bored. Life is what you make it, yadda-yadda.
For some reason, I am running out of things to say tonight, and deadlines have already killed me. Pretty please, bear with this, something better will come.