I used to write and post little (and some not-so-little!) ditties and of-the-moments constantly. Granted, I still do, only less profound and more transitory, via the all-knowing, all-encompassing Facebook. But it's not the same.
Life got in the way, that's what.
There are just so many things that happen. So many sundry tasks I never took for granted as they were all done for me in a past life but now no longer. Now I sweep my floors and mop when I can, launder my dirty clothing, clean my bathroom and sinks and everything else. It must get done, and done by me. Other tasks too like finally getting my car fully functional via a plate so I can finally drive and not be driven around. Then there is work. Work to pay the bills, and to get food in my belly. Work so I can continue doing all things myself. Old work, and now newer, more stringent work. Celluloid downloads to get away from it all, in itself a race to be up to date on. And then love: in my boyfriend whom I love more than life, who occupies my thoughts and dreams and hopes and whom I wish I could spend forever with.
So I forget to write. I forget to write about Thanksgiving, my first break in ages, after working 3 jobs. And it was a wonderful time of waking up late and cuddling and snuggling, of eating my fill and maybe more. Christmas is already around the corner: already people are putting up decorations and radios are belting out holiday tunes.
Busy days indeed. This is life: this is my life.