It's been five months.
I've blogged every single day for five months (except for the day Dad died) and I would say I'm proud of about four of those posts. I feel rushed every night to spit something out so I can get on with more important things. And that really sucks balzac because writing used to be important to me.
And so, I think, I will cry uncle. I will admit defeat. Concede. Which is hard for me. I'm stubborn, and a sore loser. Eric is going to gloat and I will be obliged to avenge myself by chewing food and showing it to him on my tongue.
I will write when I have something to say. When I have time to proof read and spell check. When I'm not exhausted, headachey, or hormonal.
There are a lot of things I'd like to try to write about; I want to impress you all with more of my awesome recipes for foods that others think are weird until they try them (with pictures!). I'd like to try to write some reviews - something I've never done before. I want the internet to know about the books that I want to crawl inside of and read for the first time over and over again, and the music that makes my heart spin inside my chest. I want to try to put my relationship with my dad into words - and say a proper goodbye to him. And I'm going to try to stop starting sentences with "and".
All these things deserve more than the ten minutes of attention I can squeeze in at the end of the day (Well, maybe not the food thing, it probably only deserves about 8 minutes.)
And you, yes, you deserve better.