Usually I stop writing when life gets bad. Laur-pression since I have never accepted I have depression. I barely accept that I have anxiety, and that makes me worry.
My current silence has been for a different reason. Life. Happy, joyous, frustrating, hair-pulling life. But not that numbing inertia where I can't walk across the room and the thought of recording my words makes me recoil in horror and shame.
My last post was the weekend I went to niagara and I wished I was at home. I wanted my Saturday night with Chris - barfing