I wouldn't blame you if you've assumed that I've died--flattened by some runaway delivery truck or poisoned by copious amounts of milk and cucumber, or a jealous ex-lover. Although...if you're reading this you are probably related to me, and thereby know that I am neither flattened nor poisoned nor terminated by any other traumatic event. I'm just...lazy. And maybe uninspired.
Although I've laid down my pen these past few months I've never stopped reading, and by reading I think I've come to understand what I dislike about my blog. Simply put, people's lives are boring. Especially people who think their lives are amazingly interesting. I don't want to read about it, and I really don't want to write about it, and I'm afraid that's the direction that my words were beginning to head.
So I guess the bottom line is this: I need a theme. Or at least a hobby. Or even an existential occurance. I don't know.
So, while I haven't actually written anything, you should probably know that I think about this every single day, and every single day I fail to conceive any idea that I find worthy of putting to paper.
But I won't stop trying.