I have been dreading this moment in a vague but persistent way that paralyzes my days and haunts my sleepless nights. My return to blogging after well over a month should be triumphant, yes? And I do feel the benefit of putting pen to paper, so to speak, watching the words appear in their tortured staccato. Mostly, it’s just a joy just to know they’re still there.

But—you knew there would be a but—but Jesus God, I wish I could return on a higher note. The past month has been extraordinary.

On February 13, I was forced by the bank to shut down my first store. The second one still lurches on in this tortured economic environment, but the first, my favorite, is gone. Worse, I had to pull the plug myself, forcing most of my poor employees to help pack everything up before being laid off. I didn’t even have the wherewithal of a bailed-out banking executive to escape regrets and endless second-guessing by fleeing to the Caribbean.

That’s where I’ve been for so long, and I won’t say it wasn’t a tremendous blow, both in dealing with the events myself and in watching them affect the people I care about. But I also can’t say that it’s not a relief on some level, not to deal with the daily horrors of a failing business.

It already failed. It’s done. And now, the future.