It's been quite a while since I've posted to you, blog. And for that I am sorry, but not really. It's been a whirlwind of summer, and I have had little time for writing. Sad, sure--but I've got a new pad, new dog, and a new job (maybe, just maybe, a career). But I miss the book. I miss the story. Every night I contemplate watching the O's (lose another game) or opening the file of my story, and I usually always choose baseball. Not because baseball means more to me than my story, no, that's not it. The story possibly means more to me than anything else. It's the lack of numbness I associate with writing that I have been missing. And dear blog, excuse me, but I've been writing here long enough for you to see right through my vagueness--you know what I mean. And without the help of this optimistic numbness it is ever harder to enjoy that world I've created, the world I continue to shape in my mind but sparingly never on paper (or on the computer).
Maybe once the summer slows down and creeps into autumn I can find both the numbness and the strength to enter that world again. I'm really running out of excuses...
