Well, obviously. It's almost February. But this was almost a New Year's Resolution, then when I was running short on time I convinced myself that New Year's Resolutions are cliche, and I never stick to them, so I should just start posting a day or two into the month and title that first-in-forever post "This is Not a New Year's Resolution". Then I got laid off, and the next month was a giant sigh. I'd have plenty of time to write later. Now it's later. It's now.
I can't pick up blogging again without justifying why I stopped, even though I know no one was thinking about it more than I was. You may remember me as the girl who nursed a broken heart by making a list of one hundred things I had to do before I'd fall in love again. I met my now-husband a month into the project, and although we took a healthy few months to get to saying "love", I knew I'd found the person I wanted to spend my life with before I got around to shooting a gun or making twenty matchbox collages.
I stopped writing because I was in love and I'd fallen out of steam. No matter how many times I've quoted that John Lennon line about life happening while you're busy making other plans, I was disappointed that I hadn't lived up to the madcap chick-lit heroine of my imagination. I got a nasty anonymous comment that kicked me when I was feeling down one night, and I shut down the blog.
I tried a few more projects. I got a job that I really wanted but turned out to be not at all what I wanted, and it sucked away most of my energy. When I came home at night I didn't want to have to produce anything. I kept productive with MOSAIC, and that's a blast. I stayed in. I wrote on my own time and I kept it to myself. I made cookies. I put up several dozen jars of very good pickles one year, and almost as many jars of terrible pickles the year after. I got married, which was a good idea, and had a wedding, which was a questionable decision, but it was a very nice wedding. I watched LOST, over and over again. I binged on quiet, on books, on thinking about things and not talking about them.
Now I find myself unemployed and as scary as that is, it feels like a blessing to have to start over fresh. In the time since I was notified I imagined my days of waiting and the things I can do while I'm looking for my next job. I am, as ever, a compulsive list-maker and my notebook is full of goals like going to the gym every morning, which I've done, even if I haven't worked out as long as I had planned, and writing every day, although I missed yesterday and had to really force myself today. It's time to do something new.