Spring is here, no doubt about it. The weeds are growing faster, the chores are piling up, and I look forward to the days that I have to go into work, because that's the only place that I can find rest anymore.
If you have noticed that my blogging frequency has dropped like an Enron executive you aren't alone. You see, I've noticed it too. I love to write, always have, from letters to emails to manifestos, I enjoy the interplay of words. And much like my motorcycle riding time, my writing helps my ongoing mental health as a safety valve. When that valve is unused I notice it pretty fast.
I can only say this in my defense: Bugger but I've been busy, both at work and at home. Having lost the Toblerone to company-wide cutbacks we're all suddenly having to run that much faster just to stay in one place. And fortunately, the weather has finally become clement enough that working outside is not a matter of how many layers of clothes you can fit on, nor is it a concern as to who might see you nekkid trying to survive the heat. Right now the weather is perfect for hoeing in the garden, or cutting grass, or weeding in the flowerbeds, all of which I did this weekend and then some. The weather is also just right for cleaning leaves and water out of the pirogue, planting some forgotten gladiolus bulbs, blocking the chimney with a piece of screen so the house wrens don't decide to set up housekeeping again, checking the air pressure in every single piece of yard equipment I own, and masterminding a complex and subtle series of maneouvers intended to implement the disassembly, loading, delivery and subsequent reassembly of an old (and excruciatingly solid steel) Soloflex machine that the wife's boss wanted O-U-T of her shed. And then some.
So here I am back at work, wading through the piles of paperwork that seem to pile up like snow in January if you happen to live somewhere cold, or like dead leaves in the front yard if you're from around here, and I realised that the big empty spot in me that has been hollering was not my stomach wondering if my throat has been cut but was in fact the very frustrated writer that I keep locked away behind my ribs.
And even though this is not the post you were looking for (it's a Jedi mind trick you see *waving my hand in a manner intended to look both sorcerously enchanting and effortlessly cool*) you'll be happy to know that I do fully intend to get back in the saddle with the Picture of The Moment which has not changed in weeks and with more current, interesting, and otherwise Irrelephant posts.