Internets is stoopud.

I'd like to say that the reason I haven't blogged forever was something cool.
Things I wish I could say I was doing, that hindered my blogging:

A.) Shopping for a professional grade video camera with a bank account I forgot I'd been contributing to since I was seven, through automatic payroll deductions administered by those whose children I babysat.

B.) Being recognized for my efforts at work so much that I just couldn't break away from all the VIP dinners and moving my cubicle closer to a window of some sort. Wait, no, make that an office. A real office.

C.) Accepting a Pulitzer for writing Big Girl Pants

D.) Exercising

Instead, I was working late. Rebuilding projects I inherited from a moved-on former coworker who, according to our other coworkers, didn't do a whole lot of work at work. Nice. Imagine someone running off to be a permanent astronaut and leaving you their kids (forever). One has a plate in its head. The other has a gluten allergy. Their parent left you no notice of this, nor any doctor's information. Now imagine the kids' teachers asking you if they're ready for a field trip, you say you honestly don't know. Next thing you know, the astronaut parent broadcasts from space that she feels so missed...the kids' teachers are simply BEGGING them to come back and take back over. And so the late nights you spend getting the kids checked for secret dormant diseases to avoid teachers emailing space about what an unfit guardian you are....well it all kinda sucks.

It's kinda like that. Except without horrifically broken kids, or astronauts.

When not cleaning up the train wreck of incompleteness that is my current project load, I've been staring at my apartment, wondering what to clean, and literally not knowing where to start, and therefore not starting at all. It looks GREAT.

See, I transferred my internet from my apartment to the business. And had no immediate need to backfill the internet void at home. Which created a blog void in my life. So it's not as cool as I first thought. Rather than respite and seclusion at home, I feel anxiety and involuntary reclusiveness. And it makes me not blog. And that sucks.

I wish I had interesting pictures to take. But my trusty old camera is going through camera adolescence and not cooperating. Surely, it's just a stage. Most surely. Kind of like me not blogging.