Okay. I'm sorry. I apologize for having been absent for several months. (Months?! Oye, I guess so.)
Oh, Diarist. Where have you been? What have you been doing? And how is the double hand transplant going? (Because that's the only excuse we're going to give you for being gone for so long.)
I wish I had an elaborate story of globetrotting and jet-setting with Lindsay Lohan, Charlie Sheen, and Gary Busey. Or of a horrific, temporary, partial bout of elephantiasis of the nether-regions. Or of a near-death experience from a wild llama attack.
But the truth is that I just didn't care to blog. Anything.
Politics of late has been downright depressing. Celebrities are too busy winning and missing court dates to be interesting. I haven't been moved very much by the latest tech news.
And don't get me started on D.C.'s sports teams. (Minus the Caps, of course. But there's enough ink being spilt by far better wordsmiths than I on that topic.)
So I haven't written. Nor have I wanted to write.
My muse has left me for another blogger. (Or group of bloggers. I don't know exactly. She's a slut like that.)
I need to get back to writing. This is one of the very few things that kept me grounded, one of the very few things I found joy in doing.
Perhaps if I just get back in the saddle and ride, damn the direction ... maybe just perhaps I'll get my mojo back.
(A little encouragement from you, my faithful readers, wouldn't hurt either.)