I received the following email from a hot-pot of sassafras who occasionally teaches me to shake my money-maker:
whitttchaaaahhh........write more blog dammit.
Your ever-lovin Kristie
I never realized that you could spell out the sound of the crack of a whip, but here it is in black and whiteish. If only that crack was solidly planted on my posterior I might do a better job of jumping to it. Sometimes a girl just needs a solid whup'un to get the ball rolling.
Truth be told, my head space is still precarious. I keep having ideas that I want to write, but the ideas haven't been turning to verbal inertia... yet. I'm ever encouraged since I've not been waking daily wishing for death to take me swiftly. That's a good sign if I ever heard of one. I'll not make promises of when I can get back to regularly regaling you with true tales of glory days peppered with hyperbole and lies (and occasionally ham-fisted alliteration and contradiction). I'll just do what I can as my mind cools the hell out.