I am eating a salad. Bright red tomatoes that Debbie brought me from the farmer's market. Yellow bells and mixed romaine. Pieces of cold chicken. Crusty Italian bread with butter. It's very good. Joni is on. Laundry is done but not folded and put away. The kitchen floor will have to wait till next week.
I was talking to a neighbor about my site and lack of will to write and my need to simplify the process by which I publish. He mentioned Blogger and I remembered this blog. This long sleeping blog. This blog that I set up so I could blog when I was away. This blog on which I wrote a loopy rant because a man I -- I'm resisting the urge to say loved -- a man I discovered in the blog world and had strong feelings for, which I thought might be love, wrote something.
I remembered Blogger with big banner ads unless you paid. But there is no banner ad.
I am thinking that maybe I can write here and regain some momentum. I don't think anyone checks in here. I'm not sure how many people check in on my other blog. I know I feel a mix of gratitude and guilt when I look at the comments from the lovely people who wrote to let me know they were still checking. If I could prove to myself that I could write daily, or even often again I could just use this blog as my blog. Point to it. Commit.
Did I mention honey mustard dressing?
I was reading Aaron's book. He writes about his habit of internally narrating his experience as he lives it. I had that habit for years and years. Sometimes still do. It was that narration that I used as fodder for posting. But. I lost some intention. Some will. Something.
Salad is gone. Glass of tea is empty. I want more. Maybe I'll eat the chocolate, cherry, almond cookie that Debbie made.
And I need to fold the laundry.