Hey, as Staind put it best, and no shade to Bearnaked Ladies on this one but, it’s been… a while. The only thing that has stayed constant here are my excuses not to write. But I’m tired of letting myself down. This used to be accountability for me; 5 people reading and saying they did so was enough. Dayenu. Recently, not even the money Squarespace auto debits from my bank account has done what I’ve wanted, which is to be motivated to write and to actually write. We writers talk about our writing as if it will just magically pop up somewhere, published, edited, and on the New York Thymes Bestseller list, which is a publication specifically concerned with spices from New York. No relation to the book list. There’s also the 30 Under Dirty list, which again ranks unwashed vegetables across the United States. But if I tell you all my aspirations, I’ll have to kill you.

I can’t use the events of the last year as excuses, and that’s coming from a guy who has tried and successfully done so. What’s the excuse? No time? That’s been debunked by Mythbusters. No ideas due to the world literally/actually/figuratively falling apart? That was a distraction. Didn’t you hear? Aliens are real. I let myself get distracted by feelings of anxiety, impending worldly issues, and death. That’s what happened. It’s where we find ourselves, what kept me down and away. I do appreciate whoever takes the time to read this eventual book of essays. You matter.

So, I’m ultimately going with the Friends excuse… WE WERE ON A BREAK! Break’s over, chop chop. Scrammmm, you ne’er do wells. I’m cleaning house and retooling for the umpteenth time, I know. I’m very good at stopping and starting on here, and I do it quietly and suddenly, like a Prius, no regard for whoever is behind me. Fellow writers be damned. The road ahead looks just as bumpy, and I’m no psychic, but I do have all the supplies and chachkies. We’ll be fine. Oh and let’s say Mondays are the real day to post on here. I know I said Wednesday like a moron once; can you ever forgive me, Monday? Garfield hates you, but I don’t. I think you’re insulated and worth it, A.K.A. swell, just like the water bottle.

Stay tuned!