Six Years Later

I am a writer.

It's about time.

I guess.

I've been spending the last million days since I started this post trying to expound on those three sentences. I had an idea when I wrote those sentences where this post would go. It has been more than a million days ago since I even posted on this blog. Here I am today, tentatively, reviving this blog. This effort reminds me of a time in college when my friend, Jen, and I decided to try making a "flaming Rum drink" we'd heard about. So we went to the store, bought some Bacardi 151 and took it home. I don't remember what else was supposed to be in this "flaming" drink. In spite of being just/not quite 21, we were not experienced in the fire-inducing qualities of alcohol. We poured the 151 into a large pot, set it in the center of the kitchen and then circled as though we were the witches from MacBeth, teasing it with a lighter until it ignited, hopefully without burning the house down.

Well. Not only did we avoid a renters' insurance claim, we were resigned to non-flaming shots of rum (there's no way we wasted our hard earned cash/credit). Successful or not, the memory doesn't fail to elicit (semi) hysterical laughs from the two of us, and others, if we tell the story correctly.

So. Circling the pot.

I thought I had a pretty profound idea going when I wrote those first three lines at the top. And then I forgot what that profundity was. As such, I'm taking a new approach, albeit less aggressively sure of myself, and it's this:

We'll figure this out.

Not as glamorous, but this has to be the mantra because just as I wrote this, in front of the TV, someone on the show said, "we'll figure this out." No kidding, this happened. It's like, as my friend recently pointed out, the moment you hear about cooking "sous-vide" on Food Network, sure enough, your mom and your neighbor are sous-viding (not a word) their Thanksgiving dinner and everything else.

That's it. I don't have anything more far-reaching to say. I am just figuring this out, this return to writing, a return to me. Here I am! I say to myself, looking around, as though for someone else.

And so.

Here I am.