I know I haven't been around much lately. And it's not because you smell (you do.)
It's just, it's football season, and if you didn't learn last year, that means I sort of drop of the face of the planet until February.
I know some of you are bristling. I don't call you enough. I ignore your attempts for contact. When you speak to me, I stare right through your face like I am listening, but I am most definitely not. And that's just my husband.
My hands are permanently attached to my keyboard and my computer has grafted itself to my lap. Even when I'm not working I find hard to get up from this machine. I try to catch up on my google reader, which calls to me with its numbers, guilting me for ignoring it, a failure of consequence. I die a little every time I "mark all as read."
I got out to NYC a few weeks ago, which you read about below. That was nice. I'm not sure I've seen the sun since, and considering this vampire stuff is hot right now, it probably just appears that I'm going for the trendy pasty white look.
I'm not unhappy. Quite the opposite. I love a challenge.
But I've failed you all. I think about you every day, about how I should call you, but I don't want to bore you with my one-note life. Please don't take it personally.
I miss you. And I'll see you on February 8th.