I Can Take A Hint

"Age wrinkles the body.  Quitting wrinkles the soul."

Yeah.  That's what I said.  I can take a hint.

Now, I'm not saying that when I take a hint, I act on it right away or anything.  I'm just saying I can take one.   Kind of like a nap, I'm thinking.

Wait.  Nothing like a nap, because it is well known that I cannot take a nap.  Bad analogy.  Oh man, and that's even the part of the SAT that I aced. 

By saying this, I don't want to imply that this is the first hint I've had, the first tug, the first nagging pointed finger in my back telling me to start blogging again.  But this one, well, it's a doozy (is that how you spell doozy?  doozie??).

It's not like I haven't been lonely.  Or missed writing.  Or reading.  Or all the ridiculous reading and linking and tagging and networking that leads to blog readership which in turn leads to motivation to keep writing.  Okay, I haven't missed that last one, you got me there.

It's been a long time, hasn't it.  Yup.  It has.

It's a common malady.  I'm seeing that.   As you know, I was all gung ho there for awhile.  And then it died out.   Or my life changed.  Or something.  As I've been considering coming back, I've meandered around the web, visiting some of the blogs that I loved and frequented during my gung ho days (which should be distinguished from my Gunga Din days, which are a completely different thing, though they do both involve a fair amount of carrying).  And, well, a lot of them ain't what they used ta be.  I'm pretty sad about that--they were great reading.  Some have just grown sparse, bare around the edges, while others have disappeared all together.  I guess what I'm saying is that I feel like I'm in some pretty damn good company (in the disappearing if not in the returning).  Hey, it's a first step with that loneliness thing, right?

But this isn't about going away.  It's about returning.  Again.

Believe you me, I'm asking the questions.  Why am I back?  Why am I trying to do this again?   Why say so, rather than just starting again?  Huh?

Well, first, because I can take a hint.  I told you that already.

Second, because the other night, I found myself watching Julie and Julia again (on TV this time--with ads, which I do NOT recommend, which is why I only wound up watching part of it).  I liked that movie.  And I remembered going to see it with friends--back in the day before they had a child and could do things like see movies--and smiling and laughing knowingly at her talking about doing a blog, getting comments, having "readers", and finding a construct that would move her to write daily rather than whenever she felt like it, which is really important because, as we well know, in today's ADD world if you don't have a structure for doing something all the time, it often doesn't get done, which is what Julie knew and so she decided to work her way through Mastering the Art of French Cooking.  I remembered how much fun it was, how much work it was, how it represented a tiny leap of faith that took place every single day, when I pressed "Publish", sending my words out into the middle of nowhere and everywhere, with trust.  It was a big deal.  I remember that now.

(by the way, Julie Powell's last blog post was more than  year ago (unless she's moved somewhere else, I'm lazy tonight so I'm not doing much digging).  So there.)

And third, because (this is a secret...shhhhh), well, I never stopped.  Yeah, I know that it looks like I stopped.  And I can't prove that I didn't, because there's no secret place --or worse yet, another blog, which would just be like infidelity, that would be wrong--where all the writing I did while I was stopped is located.  But I did write.  Every day.   Sometimes multiple times a day.   I even stayed on topic.   I wrote about the things I didn't (don't) get.    The trick was in getting them to come out the tips of my fingers.  Just wasn't happenin'.

So there I was, watching Julie and Julia and trying to keep track of the couple of hundred blog posts that were written in my head, or at least trying to get myself to stop writing them if I wasn't actually going to write them down, you know?, and then I got an email.  Because way back when, when I needed the structure that Julie Powell had (at least in her fictional persona) I found it in Nablopomo.  Write every day.  For a month.  Who can't do that?  It's 30 days, give or take a couple.  Sheesh.  If I can't do that....well then.  I have friends who do Nanowrimo, ferevvinsakes (and god bless 'em).

Yeah, that's who sent the email.  Nablopomo.  Because every month, they send a cordial little note saying what the theme for the upcoming month is, just in case you want to jump back on board (how nice of them!).  You don't have to follow the theme, it's just a crutch, in case you can't figure out what to write about, in which case you can write about the theme, which always seems harder to me than writing about something else, but there ya go.

So there they were.  In my mailbox.  And what did they say the "theme" was for September?

"Return"

Get that.   Like I said,  I can take a hint.

And so, as they say, I shall.

30 days.  Returning.   I can do that.

Hi Ho Silver!

It's as good a time as any, this eve of a New Year, what with resolutions, new starts, and all that. So I'm figuring....what the hey, get back up on the horse and ride off into the sunset...or maybe the sunrise, since it's already dark and the sunrise will officially be that new year full of promise and resolutions and great plans and unforeseen adventures. Whatever. I'm back.

As you may notice, I have even gone so far as to sign up for Nablopomo, that little devil on my shoulder that keeps me going. I know, I know, I shouldn't be so dependent on external motivation, I should write if I want to write and not if I don't, adoring fans be damned (of course, I don't mean you), not that I don't appreciate adoring fans, 'cause man I really do, but even in my really-doing, it doesn't get me to write.

You may wonder why I left, why I've stayed away, what happened, was it the proverbial writer's block, did someone piss me off, did someone scare me, did I really have nothing to say for five months (fat chance), blah de blah. Yup.

It's been an interesting time. Every time I sat down to write, and believe me, I did, especially when thinking of my fellow bloggers with whom I had forged such warm connections, I was stuck. I was mostly stuck because, as irreverent and goofy and irrelevant as this blog may sometimes be, it's really never been about anything but the truth. My truth, that is.

Hot tip: If you are a new reader, and the hair stood up on the back of your neck when you read those words "my truth", and you're pawing your hoof in the dirt getting ready to leave me a comment about relativism and how morality is absolute, let me just say more power to you, but just fair warning, this blog is gonna piss you off pretty much every day. If you're into that, by all means feel free to stick around. Just don't say nobody warned you, k?

And the truth, at least for the past several months (I can hear you saying, Robin, you don't have to explain yourself, but I feel like I do, in the same way that it's difficult to come back when you've run away from home (not that I've ever thought of running away from home, oh, no, that doesn't sound like me at all) or re-enter a room when you have just vanished for an indeterminate amount of time. Come to think of it, that's one of the things that is most annoying to me, that has been the death of me (and some relationships)...that is, people who renew relationships and conversations as if a breach one of sort or another has not occurred. That bugs me. In the spirit of integrity, then, I feel like I gotta say. Okay?

Which is not to say that I wasn't dying to write about a gazillion things that happened, because as you know by now, there's a lot of things that I don't get. Don't think I didn't want to rant about that new hand dryer they have now at Target (and elsewhere, I'm sure) that offers you the oh-so-special reminder of our mortality (which is something you definitely want to do while in the bathroom) by blowing all that skin around that you coulda swore was attached, but you now realize otherwise. I might still write about that in the coming days, so go try it out if you haven't yet, 'cause I love them comments, they're infusions, keep 'em comin. And don't tell me you won't have something to say about them. That's just impossible.

But here's the thing. There was something in this time span that just wouldn't allow it. When my fingers get going, they pretty much say what they want to say, and as any of you who are writers know, those digits have a little independent connection of their own to the mind and heart, which is a good thing, a fine thing for journals, but not quite as swell in blogs, at least in my view.

I sat down to write. I did. And then I heard it.

So I guess what I'm saying tonight is that I'm over that now, with full awareness that that might mean that I now have nicer things to say (ya think?). Or maybe I've just decided that Thumper is full of shit. I'm not sure which one.

I figure we'll find out, right? Stick around.