haaaaay! remember when I used to write words? stories and social commentary and nonsensical nonsence? sigh. I do too. vaguely. life has been a whirlwind these last several whiles, and I don't really see that changing in the too-near future. I feel badly about this, because I like to write for this blog and I like to write in general. It's always been my therapy and my release, just pouring it out for some invisible audience but really for me. It was easy when my kids were little and their biggest concerns were adorable and naiive and veritably inconsequential. They are older now, teenagers. Their lives are complicated and while still funny and adorable and endearing, they want and deserve privacy. I've got my own stories and experiences and anecdotes that I'd like to be writing about, but here I am in this king sized bed in Chicago, full of funnies and observations about these last couple of weeks, yet my fat frankenstein fingers on this tiny ipad keyboard just can't/won't get it out there. blocked, distracted, worried, overextended...call it what you will. I just don't have it to give right now.
whattayagonnado? I don't know, but here's a motherfucking Monet: