I know a number of people with blogs who post on a regular basis. I don’t know how they do it. I’ve let weeks slip by in silence, though I think about writing all the time. Alas, I’ve been busy. (I’m sure they are too, hence my wonderment.)
Since January I have (in no particular order): read 94 books and 20 articles; given my first guest lecture; attended 47 union/labour/politicking meetings*; rewritten my Master’s mini-thesis; run a 5k race (and jogged periodically thereafter); fallen madly in love; attended a conference in Wisconsin; started a garden; presented my Master’s research not once, not twice, but thrice!; participated in two weekend-long workshops; cleaned the apartment a couple times; played some softball; gone to a half dozen political actions; hosted some dinner parties; cared for the cats.
In short, life has gotten in the way. That’s a good thing. It feels pretty satisfying as I sip whiskey and check that final book off the list. I already feel a bit of that anticipatory energy that marks the start of all new life chapters. I think I’ll write more. But first, to sleep.
*The total number is probably more than that. Those were simply the ones I remembered to write down in my planner. And yes, I really did just count them. And yes, I might be a masochist.