1) First, you HATE to read those “why I have not been blogging” entries by other people, because they are not very interesting, and they seem to imply a certain HOW HAVE YOU MANAGED WITHOUT ME POOR YOU-ness, when really it is just a blog and the answer is, Fine, thanks.
Also, they usually boil down to “OH EM GEE, you guys, I was so super busy.” And who isn’t? Especially this time of year.
BUT…at the same time, you begin to believe you can’t write a normal blog entry until you dutifully fulfill the obligation to write the blog entry about why you haven’t been writing blog entries, and it seems boring to do that, and so you keep putting off writing it and then you have not blogged LONGER and LONGER until, eventually, you feel in order to justify your near absence you need to REALLY have a great reason, like, say, if alligators came up out of the toilet and ate your dog and you have been too sad and nonplussed and also getting therapy for your new restroom-themed night terrors.But we haven’t had ANYTHING remotely reptilian rise out of the toilet, Thank the Lord, and eventually it almost feels like you are WAITING for some justifying thing to happen, which is first cousins with WILLING upon yourself an infliction of dog-murdering toilet reptiles.
And MAN, do you ever love your dogs.
Solution: I am not going to write the entry. I will say this: Things happened. I was super busy. So were you. The end, and also, HI I am back.
2) You get The Blog Shies. It’s like running into a friend you haven’t seen in a bit, and you are not sure what to ask because what if you ask about that husband of hers you always found to be moderately suspect, and she is in the middle of ugli-ly divorcing him, or he is in prison, or he actually WAS doing terrible experiments crossing his own toilet reptiles with hooved animals and his bison-viper hybrid ate him whole and pooped him out on the middle of the dining room table during her Thanksgiving dinner?
Also, in the blog sense, you know there are more blogs out there, like 700 zillion and when you get quieter and quieter people go away and you could NOW be talking companionably to, well, no one, and when the lights come up, you are quite blushed to see you have been babbling to an empty room, save for, perhaps, the mummified body of a man who may have once given a rose to Emily, or maybe it is Norman Bates’s mother.
Not to be corpse-ist here, but I confess all dessicated human remains look alike to me.
Solution: Just gonna ask you—HOW IS TRICKS? Anyone you know get eaten recently? Are you a dessicated corpse? If not, HOW ARE YOU? Are you still here? I am still here.