Well hi there!
Hello me, or you. Whoever you/we are, reading this right now. It's been a long, long while. Sit a spell and let me tell you about the last seven years. Aside from the pandemic -- we all know about that one.
Fair warning, this post is going to be a bit self-indulgent, but I promise (to whoever you are, for whatever reason) that they'll be more substantial later on. I realized, going back to read my old snippets here, that a lot of my writing is for me. I write impulsively, usually inspired by something that upsets me, as a way of parsing through the mess. Sometimes it has the nice side effect of actually being entertaining but mostly it serves as an emotional time capsule; reflecting back on what I was thinking and who I was at the time is fascinating, and probably a lot more interesting for me than it is for you.
If you reading this is not me, I mean. If you're me, that last line makes a bit less sense.
The problem with this of course is that I end up only writing when I'm in trouble.
