You know that feeling when you have about 3,492 half (or barely) written blog posts in draft and every time you log-in to start writing, something else comes up?
(Like a kid pukes, or a work deadline pops up in your Outlook reminders and you realize it's actually 4 days old [WTF Outlook?!], or your alarm goes off to remind you of something and you've completely forgotten WHY you've set the alarm, or dinner is burning in the oven and one or more of your kids is screaming because the PVR didn't record their whole TV Show and life.will.end if they can't watch it, or you notice the unpaid electric bill on the corner of your desk, or your phone rings and it's the doctors office tellling you that you missed your appointment that day and the next one is three months from now?)
Yeah. That. Except that's not what happened here. Well partly. All that shit happened plus more insane shit except the 3,492 half written posts.
I could lie and say I have some really exciting and funny new posts for you, coming soon, or I could tell you that my blog was hacked by aliens and every post I have written since the New Year magically was stolen and is now a best selling book on Mars (I like this one best), or I could tell you the truth: I HAVE BEEN FUCKING BUSY.
I yelled that to stress my point so I don't get grief from you.
But it's true. Life has gotten in the way of my therapuetic writing, and while I sit here typing my words I realize that I NEED A Life Less Ordinary, it doesn't need me. You guy's don't wait around with baited breath for my next ridiculous story, you don't get lonesome when I don't post for a month or two, and you most certainly don't take ANY of my advice because that would just be plain stupid and I don't want you to read my words if you're that dumb. Seriously. Stop.
I kinda love it here.
When I do take these 'leave of absences', I forget all that. And then I come back. And then I write this drivel. And then you all stop reading me because I bore you to tears.
But then something miraculous happens. I fall in love with A Life Less Ordinary again. And isn't that the point? This is my place. And the door is open.
I'm hospitable and shit. But don't spill on the carpet.