You'd think I'd have plenty to write about here

With so much going on...always, always going on...you'd think I'd have a really nice steady stream of blog entries. I mean, my career is loosely comprised of a handful of minimally related ventures, and I have more friends than I can comfortably keep up with. There are travels to be planned, items to be picked up at storage and others to be stored there, spaces to be tidied, phone calls to be returned.

And I think that's why there are days I think "I haven't written in my blog" and just let the thought move on by. I mean, where does one start? I could tell you about the 3 hour "business meeting" that included much productivity AND me lounging on a sofa with a dog on my belly. I could tell you about driving to that meeting from another very-important-appointment and driving the same stretch of road three times over because of this horrifically A.D.D.-inspired directional segue. I could tell you about the verymuchcool necklaces I made this morning, and the happiness I had when my Mom told me, over the phone today, how much she's enjoying time spent with my cat, Kenya, who is temporarily living with my parents. Or that I'm sad that I'm not going to be able to go visit them as soon as I'd hoped, while my beloved Granddaddy is visiting with them. And that I'm glad he wasn't more hurt than he was when he fell into that stream face-first.

I could tell you about how much I love fall and that I hope it's not completely behind me when I actually get to make this trip to Toronto. That it feels enormously relieving to have made a couple of long-overdue business phone calls I'd been dreading, that I can't wait to snuggle under the covers tonight with the chill in the air brought on by an open window, and that I love my new boots which I wore today. I might even try and articulate how odd it feels to be styling my hair a way that is awfully reminiscent of 22 years ago and I sometimes wonder if other women are feeling the same hesitant glee at approaching a style none of us really thought we'd be wearing again while at least I, for one, secretly think it's kinda' cool.

It goes on and on, this list of things I'm not telling you, this list of things that gets oddly jumbled in my mind so that in the end I do nothing but list for you the things I'm not telling you. It's the fullness of life they always tell us about.

One day I'll read books again, and do yoga and take long walks and sit while Granddaddy tells me more stories of events he recalls fondly and I never got to hear before. Until then, I'll hop frantically from thing to thing and recite, ad nauseum, the cliches we hear far too often that begin with suggestions like, "That's how it is," or "It's a sign of the times," and "There's never enough time." These phrases sicken me while I remain apparently unable to avoid joining in in the reciting of the very words I abhor.

And so I'll continue with this pace, recalling that I finally found one of the lost CD's, smile hesitantly at the odd sensation that an 18 year old most certainly flirted with me recently, wonder about the upcoming birth of my baby sister's first child, wonder if the lines under my eyes are growing deeper, and try and remember who it is I've forgotten to call back. Likely that'd be the plural "who" but thinking of a singular being is enough stress for one night. So instead I think I'll brush my teeth and find that snuggly pillow. And hope my dreams are, at least, stress-free.