It HAS been a while.
A while since I've blogged here at The Striped Nickel.
Since I've written anything much, beyond emails and tiny little bursts of admiration or indignation or information on Facebook.
Poor Li'l Twitter-bird must think I've divorced him. Or her. 'Cause I have not dropped by to say hello in months.
It's been way too long since I've worked at anything beyond taking care of Benjy's health and well being, and now, my own.
That is hard work, but, sadly, not paid work.
It's been almost a year since I've gone more than a few days without feeling like I've got the flu. Or run a marathon. (And believe me, I am not fit to run around the block.)
It's been just as long since the hemispheres of my brain were roundly fused together in a functional cognitive globe.
Memory: I don't know, I forget, but it's been a while.
Word-retrieval: Retrieval? Could you spell it?
Creative energy: zzzzzzzzz.
So you see, Readers, I am struggling just a bit. More than a bit. Even though my kids are blossoming, each in their own way. (And really, what could be better than that? Those two shining lights in my life.)
I am in transition. Trying to forge a new path.
The people in my universe are the same: Lars is steadfast, if overworked. He thinks I'm beautiful even on the days I never manage to get dressed, on the days I forget to wash my hair or brush my teeth.
You can't beat that.
I still have Saskia and Benjy in my court, and my parents and brother and sister-in-law and other family members, too. I have the most wonderful friends.
No, not wonderful. REALLY wonderful.
The Hellacious Hound is hanging in there, too. (Prozac is helping with that process.) So I get daily fluff-therapy, PRN.
But I am not here. Or I am, but not in the form I thought I had. I am not talking about my body here, although since losing the damned Risperdal weight I feel good about myself again. I'm talking about who I thought I was.
I thought I was tireless. Smart. My plan was to write one stunning scholarly monograph after another. To get a job at Yale. (Yeah, I know. Dream on. I did have an interview with Columbia when Saskia was a month old. That was a dream too, only a really, really bad one. I'll tell you about it one day and we can laugh together.)
I thought those grandiose things about myself, and once upon a time I might even have been right.
But not now. And so I have to figure myself out, all over again, and I have to figure out how we can survive when one of the adults in this household is recovering from running a virtual marathon almost every day -- but we live by necessity in a town that, for us, is strictly a two-income town.
So in case you were wondering where I am, I am here. Just working hard on other stuff.
Please don't give up on me, Readers. I'll be back, I promise.