Re-re-start

Good golly. I’m coming up on my 8^th anniversary of writing this blog. Eight?? Can that be write, er, right? Correct?

Whaddya mean it's time for another post?

As I peruse the list of posts from so many months I come away with a feeling of self-contentment I didn’t expect. Some of my posts are pretty darned decent. 

This knowledge makes me a little sad that I’ve not written regularly the last 12 or so months.

 It’s not that there aren’t lots of things to write about. For instance:

There’s the time I dropped my exact-o knife off the table and into my calf, miraculously landing so as to merely separate the skin from the muscle underneath. (More blood was shed when the Dr pulled the wound apart to see what the heck I did.)

Or the day I crashed my pastels all over the floor in my studio. No, not this time, another time. (Yeah, there have been several crashes over the years. Some are more blog-worthy than others.)

Or the day a dear sweet gallery employee apologized for dropping a painting, and made up for it by Super-gluing the corners back together…almost square. Now that I think of it, there are several stories to be told of wayward gallery employees knocking my artwork off the walls. A little paranoia may be in order.

Or the day a gallerist I admire told me she hated the painting that was the centerpiece of an exhibit I was in the process of hanging in her shop. 

In fact, I’ve got a whole list of things to write about, having written a page or so of items for consideration…last February.

So what gives? 

Laundry needed doing; a window needed staring out of.  I fell off the wagon, lost my mojo, ran out of ink.

It appears the world did not slip off its axis, nor did the polar ice cap turn to mush on account of my absence. And neither will either of those things happen if I continue to write – maybe that’s why it was so easy to let another day…week…month slip by.

And yet…

like broccoli, writing regularly is good for me. Reading my posts is good for you. I’ll get back into a proper routine again and write more often.  Laundry can wait. I reserve the right to continue staring out the window.