more writing.

I'm always terrible at marking change in my life. My childhood journals are full of page after page of monotony, but the significant moments are curiously absent. On through my teenage years and college. I am inspired to write about the color of the leaves but incapable of writing when I move or fall in love or suffer a broken heart.

There is distant thunder tonight, the kind that sounds vaguely reminiscent of footsteps upstairs. The kind that makes you say in your head, over and over, Oh it's just the thunder. And it is mixing with some pre-holiday fireworks. And those are mixing with a small bit of rain. And that is mixing with cats racing up and down the stairs after me, tiny claws and feet on wood, skittering.

I moved last weekend to a new city. I started a new job. I took up with a good man who loves me. It was a big weekend.

I don't want to write about it because, in my old way, I can't conjure up the words. It's too much, or it means too much, or something. But I bargained with myself tonight: You can eat that second piece of cheese, but then you must writing something.

So I have done my part.

I'm sorry for another absence, but it couldn't be helped. I will be back again. Nearly one year ago, I resolved to write on this blog. I'm working on a goal list for this year. Bigger and better but mostly just more. More writing. More.