I haven't written in a millenium.
I have so much running around in my head that I want to say about molestation and family secrets and ceserean sections and finances and for the life of me I can't muster the guts to be really honest with every one.
My mind is preoccupied with extra pounds, triglycerides, tropical storms, hurricanes, financial doom of loved ones, personal financial doom, conception, a feverish child, weedy gardens, caffeine consumption, pap smear results, and the difficult decision to put down my dog.
Having written nothing for so long is surely a sign of how I have managed to belittle myself into a corner and deny an outlet, and that says it all. Perhaps from my creative corner, full of personal trials, I will come out barking screaming mad with honesty and viciousness.
Don't blame yourselves for my insanity - I think I've done this all on my own. Wait, how arrogant would that be; taking credit for all the ills in the world. I remember reading more than once that Grandiosity went hand in hand with Depression.
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