Had I but world enough, and time

Home sick = time to write, it seems.

I hadn’t realized it, but I’ve had this blog for … more than 11 years.  Yes, it’s sat largely abandoned since the summer after grad school, and I do occasionally re-commit myself to it, for at least those thirty minutes I think I have time to say something.

I feel the emptiness in those convictions at the moment.  I know how my life will take over, and I won’t write, because I won’t take time to be quiet enough to think.  How I’ll run on fumes and stress until I collapse, and then there’s no time.  There are so many things that are missing from life just now that were a permanent fixture in 2001 when I started this blog.  I was still singing regularly then.  In fact, I had just been to New York on a choir trip two months before.  I sang at the High Holy Days services still.  The previous summer I’d gotten my first apartment. I lived alone.

There’s more reminiscing to be done here.  But now it is, like it always is: I write, and life decides it’s time for me to do something else.  This time, my child (nearly 4 now) has decided to lay out a picnic for us this afternoon, and has raided the picnic basket for silverware and the refrigerator for fruit.

There are worse reasons to end a blog post.

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