|Me, today, post-opthamologist visit|
(deep amplified echo rising up from the empty amphitheater)
I don't even know where to begin after a full year of silence.
(throat clearing... more awkward silence)
I have heard that the personal blog is dead. That no one reads these things anymore, that it's now ALL about facebook and twitter and social media modes that trip off my son's tongue, but I can't even...
(closes eyes... opens them)
I just want to tell some stories again.
<whispers> Can I do that?
(listening... no one says "no")
It's not like I haven't written in a year.
I just haven't finished anything. Bits and fragments of posts sit in the "notes" section of my iPad, sandwiched between "to do" lists and homework schedules, insurance information and Bar Mitzvah plans.
My well is not run dry, but, rather, my bucket full of holes.
The winter has been bleak and March, that asshole month, did not fail to deliver its requisite punches (my late parents' anniversary, father's birthday, father's death date). Spring's blossoming flowers always invoke my mother, mixing the bitter with the sweet, and always now with the missing.
And, once again, the school-year's end looms. How did this year pass?
(With a crawl and a shamble and a speedy blur. With two boys growing through three shoe sizes and nearly my height. With homework done and screen-minutes counted. With small victories and midnight pints of Ben & Jerrys.)
I think I may be back.
I'll let you know tomorrow.
(drops mike, goes to run Jacob's bath)
Also? Linking to Just Write because I love and have missed Heather.