This has been interesting. I find myself checking for comments. The reason for starting off here is to write without concern for who reads, or doesn't read. But writing in a public space is writing that actively seeks a reader. And old habits die hard.
I'm not sure it would matter if I wrote on my blog. I see I've been taken off a few blog rolls, which isn't surprising. I'm not sure anyone checks in anymore. I don't know how so much time went by. And I still don't know if I can do it again. Every day. Or even often.
The little bit of time I have in the morning at work gets used up by transit traumas and the exigencies of the job. I come home tired and without focus. There's never any time. My topics are mostly found in transit, which is not necessarily a bad thing. Just not always inspiring.
I've been doing my usual hand wringing about why bother. Does it matter? Is it any good? And then I was sitting on the train and over heard a cell phone conversation about a blog, the topic of which seemed rather scandalous. I just smiled. Blogging is still a garden gone wild. There is no right or wrong way to do it.
It's Sunday night. The kitchen floor finally got mopped but, in truth, could used another swipe. Or two. However, the bathroom looks great.
I've been getting food ready for the week. I am always greedy about summer fruit. Peaches, berries, watermelon. I cannot get enough. I went up the street to get stuff for breakfasts.
The surfaces are mostly clean again.
The weekend slips by driven by chores and naps and a movie or two.
I'm just going to keep trying.