I have started to write this entry several times and always trail off. Maybe I am out of practice in writing, or perhaps I have merely been dead inside. Temporarily dead. Like a butterfly. Or Rush Limbo’s poor brain, which must still occasionally fire up a few neurons every now and again in order to score his latest fix.

The fact is, I had not been writing as much here in recent months because I was simultaneously the busiest and boringest I have been in years. My life was non-stop activity, but it was all the same, every day. The permanent groove I wore in the pavement between home and work and gym stands as testament to this; it was a fiesta of fruit flavors those few times I managed to veer out of this rut to, say, go to the grocery store to buy yogurt.

But in more recent weeks, however, I have been avoiding the old Hippo not because too little was going on, but too much. Upheavals at work, my nephew being born two months prematurely, trips to New York, Goblin’s birthday (new name: Stinkerella Snarfpot, Yoga Instructor), and many other predicaments and occasions have filled my days. I suppose it’s telling that I have been “live blogging,” as they say, these events in my head as they progress. I have needed an outlet, but more than that, I have needed peace and regeneration.

In the end, I have ended up with none of these things, but life goes on, and so do we (just how we do it is no mystery). One by one, we fill the days; we find a thousand different ways.

Rain or shine, I’ll be the one to share it all as life goes on. We share it all as life goes on.