Okay, I’m speaking metaphorically here. I wasn’t really in the wilderness (i.e., camping or the like). I was fully invested in two weeks of the Olympics, followed by two weeks of the political conventions, and I feel as if I just surfaced from some surreal dream or voyage to a land I reached by plunging into the back of my closet. SO much more happened this summer than I blogged about, and it already seems so long ago.
After I let my butt grow into the sofa every night after nonstop hours of watching television, I just didn’t feel like blogging. (Oh, yeah — I got a new sofa bed last month. Everyone else in the country who’s used to IKEA seems kind of jaded about it; ours just opened in March, and the honeymoon still isn’t over.)
Poor S.Hooligan! I didn’t even blog about her birthday way back at the beginning of July. I have to make that up to her. We had various adventures, my brother’s family came in from St. Louis for a few days, all kinds of things. Maybe I’ll warm up the atrophied writing muscles by catching up here and there over the next week. I’ve found over and over again through the years that I’m in a much better place mentally and emotionally if I’m writing — something, anything!