The truth is, it's gloomy and miserable outside and that means it's about the time of year for me to start writing again. I have missed writing, but I haven't really missed it all. If that makes sense to you, then you are as confused a person as I am and I suggest you see a mental health professional immediately. Seriously, I wasn't trying to be funny.
Now, I will admit that I'm tempted to write one of those "I promise to be a better blogger" blogs, but I won't. Mostly because everyone hates those fucking blogs. You hate writing them, I hate reading them. They just suck.
Instead of offering up empty blogging promises I will share something that has always been a constant in my life: the pursuit of simple pleasures. After all, this is the season for them. Sandwiched between the excesses of summer and the holidays, we find a time where we can hopefully slow down and enjoy life at a less hectic pace.
For myself, writing is one of those simple pleasures, but so is that goop you feel all over your hand when you reach down into a hollowed out pumpkin. I love the touch of a warm body on a cold night or blazing through a favorite novel over the course of a rainy weekend. Laffy taffy, miniature snickers bars, scary movies, home-cooked meals, little kids in superman capes and Vincent Price will all make me smile at least once in the coming months.
I will enjoy each of those moments completely. I will celebrate their uniqueness and cherish the warmth their sameness brings. That, I can promise.