I'm still here.

As you have probably noticed, it's been quiet around here lately.

There is no particular reason. I love this blog and I love you guys who read it when I post once in a blue moon, or send me threatening emails to let me know that if I don't post again soon, you'll have my first born.

I'm sorry that I haven't been updating as much. I know "sorry" is a weird thing to say, but I think I'm more so apologizing to myself. I miss writing, and I miss having the time to sit in my PJs and curl up on the couch and write about whatever comes into my frosting filled brain.

Time is always going to be an issue, and I'm trying to figure out a way to work through that.

I'm also busy working through some other stuff. No, no one has died. No, Iain and I are not getting d-i-v-o-r-c-e-d. No, I'm not pregnant. No, I don't hate my job.

In fact, everything is absolutely wonderful.

And that's the problem.

I've spent the past two years on fire. I've been pummeling my way through life, reaching one step, and then seeing how quick it will take me to reach the next. Tomorrow will be the the two year anniversary of the night I emailed Iain for the first time. Thinking back, it seems like such a really fucking long time ago.

Since then, I really have become a writer. I write for a living. Back in California, standing in my syrup covered shoes, and coffee smeared apron, telling people I wanted to write, I only ever heard, "Don't you need a degree for that?"

I've been taking time to heal lately. To slow down. To look around me each and every day and realize where I am, and realize I don't need to just keep my head down and run to the next stage of my life.

I never like to tell people that I'm hurting, or that I'm sad, or that I'm depressed. I don't want people to see me imperfect, or broken. I don't want to hear useless, unsolicited advice. I don't want you to tell me to keep my chin up, or to smile, or ask me if I need a hug.

I ask very few for help. And those who I have asked, have given me more help than I could ever be prepared for.

Slowly, surely, I'm looking forward to each day, again. I'm realizing that I can be down. That I can let myself be down.

I am far from perfect. I just need to get back to a place where I am comfortable being still. My daily challenges have always been to "unclench" and to be "still". These are things I don't really know how to do, but I'm starting to catch myself in moments where I realize that HOLY SHIT I'm still. I'm in the moment. I'm not worrying about a million different things at once.

Depression is a funny thing. For me, it's a private thing that I don't like to glorify or admit. I don't want to write poems about it, or share with you the frightening internal dialog that runs through my mind on my darkest days. That's not me.

In my process of slowing, I really hope to be back in a place where I can write here as often as I'd like to. Maybe I'll be in a place where I can write something other than my emotional diarrhea as soon as tomorrow. Maybe Saturday. Maybe next Friday. I'm not sure.

I guess I just wanted to say that I want to be here and that I miss it.