Yeah. So. I Do Like Gravy...

I do have some semblance of a life happening, 

though you wouldn't know it from looking around here.

And my fingers are not broken.

And my brain is, well, pretty impressive when it wants to be.

And it wants to be.

My heart? Still broken. 

But it's my brain that's working on spackling those cracks.

So.

Let's get to impressing. Ourselves, at least.

You? Well. 

That's gravy.

In Which We Realize We're Moving Forward

This was, is, and always will be a place where Mr. J lives. As is my heart.

And this has been a place where we've previously said we're turning a corner, making progress, dreaming new dreams (see pretty much all of spring 2011).

We were wrong. We were so wrong, we were deluded. We were so deluded, we didn't realize we weren't headed up, but down. We were headed so far down, we hit rock bottom.

And it was hard. And painful. And humbling. But yeah, hard. Really, really hard. So hard that it scarred. So hard that it still hurts. But that's a good thing. Scars remind us of mistakes. Aches remind us that we never want to revisit that dark, deep hole.

That was about eight months ago.

You haven't heard from us because we've been climbing and scraping our way up out of that hole. And we still are, but there's a whole hell of a lot more daylight now.

We're gainfully employed, doing the kind of work we're supposed to do. We're creating again, letting our mind do what it likes to do best. We're writing again, letting our brain do what it was born to do.

And we've finally figured something out. We may have never stopped loving (and never will) Mr. J. But we did stop loving ourselves. And, we've got to keep living. Not just the whole, inhalation/exhalation, blood-pumping-to-the-brain thing. Actually living. Living. Living a life with purpose. With hope. With honor. With respect.

And with love.

Because now we're living for two.

Yes. Being Social Is Part of the Plan

Don't know who'll be on my left. Don't know who'll be on my right. Do know that I'll be in the audience.

And not on my couch.

Which is progress to the nth degree.