I feel as if I should have some kind of massively exciting reason to have been away for weeks and weeks, but it's more a combination of things:
1) inchoate grumpiness
2) frequent travel
3) lots of little miniprojects requiring the sending of emails or the attending of rehearsals or the scheduling of schedules
4) marked inefficiancy on the major projects, like, you know, writing plays. Not been so good at doing that recently.
5) inchoate grumpiness
Nothing major or life-shattering, just the feeling that, for no good reason other than late winter, my batteries are weak, and I kind of just want to stay in bed. To put this in other terms, I have read virtually every magazine on the news stand for the month of March. I have magazine brain. Lots of pictures, few words, and the belief that shopping and/or exfoliation and/or kitchen reorganization will remake me into the person I was meant to be. Except I don't have the energy to shop or exfoliate, let alone attack the kitchen -- just to read magazines.
This isn't totally fair -- I'm caught up on laundry, I've cooked a lot of yummy meals the leftovers of which are pleasantly frozen for a rainy day. I even got a thank-you note in the mail today for a package I received on Monday, and I'm seeing the dentist (of my own volition) on Friday. So, it's not depression with a capital D, just feeling . . . "meh." And "meh" makes a hard blog post.
On a break from the magazine rack, I read Julie/Julia this weekend and it was pretty great, and reminded me that:
1) I am a better cook than I was a year ago and that's cool
2) it's okay to be young and grumpy and take it all out on absurd schemes
3) blogging can be good
It also made me realize that
4) it is highly unlikely that I will have a book deal by 30
But you can't win them all.
I guess what you can do is make cocoa while the weather still demands it, knit, and be glad there are so many magazines to read.