Inglorious Return

November isn’t a good month to return to a blog. People are NaBloPoMo -ing (I had to check on that twice to get it right) all over the place and I’m wondering if I can get one post out before winter starts. Why does it even matter? Because I’m happier when I’m getting some personal writing done. Because I will never write a memoir, which means this is at least a partial record of our lives. Because sometimes someone pops in and says something so smart and insightful that it’s worth every minute I’ve ever spent here.

I can point to all the things that normally keep me away from WordPress. I travel quite a bit for work, which is demanding even when I’m home. I may have mentioned my two small children. Damon sometimes likes to talk to me. I want to sleep.

The truth is that what stopped me, though, was getting tangled up in something I wanted to write about my Dad. Or something that wanted to be written. So many deleted drafts. This is me deciding to walk away from that. I’m sure I’ll write it, but now is obviously not the time. I do wonder how many years will go by until I stop thinking, “What on earth am I going to get Dad for Christmas?” for just one moment.





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