So much has been going on that is entirely too personal that I haven’t written in a bit. As I mentioned last post, the every three weeks seems to be working well as of right now.
So what have I been up to?
Life. Job. Not much writing at all, unless you count Twitter, which doesn’t count at all. It’s more of a holding tank for the furies that seem to arise when I’m held away from the blank page for too long.
I’ve lost five pounds by imposing a stricter diet, started watching a show called “Santuary” on Netflix, practiced some poetry skills, and supported friends as much as they truly need it.
I’ve discovered Beringer’s white merlot wine. It agrees far too easily with my taste.
I gave up hope of catching up for the year on certain needs.
I still think deep inside on what I could be doing, which seems as a distant echo to what I really am doing, and what am I doing?
Surviving, as much as I can these days.
This isn’t meant to be completely morose, just brevity of the absolute complications I find myself in lately.
I won’t be saying anything more of them, except in the same cryptic language that only I can understand, so perhaps this particular post was a certain waste of your time.
Perhaps and perhaps not. It all relies on your level and detail of concern for me as a human being or a friend.