I hardly know how to come back. I guess first I will say I am okay.
I fell down a rabbit hole. I think it is the fault of that damn closet--so close to perfect, with other things not so much, and I got tired. The only thing that got me out was that my sister was coming for a week's vacation, and I knew I had to be presentable. So of course the week before she came I could hardly talk. And not blog either.
You could say her coming also tripped me down that damned hole, even though I wanted to see her very much.
I knew I was presentable, but I didn't believe I was (if you get that, I think you will). And the house needs work. Although really it's an attitude adjustment. You know.
So instead of adjusting the house or my attitude, I wrote a Western novel, and I thought about Momma Fargo and Bob G. the whole time I was writing it. I finished it the weeks after my sister left. 65,000 words--set in Arizona Territory--I think it's good.
Still haven't sent it out.
I wanted to send it to you guys, and see if it was any good. I thought about it for weeks. I thought about peedee all through October because I was going to visit her in Sunny Florida, but I couldn't even answer the phone. Every time I fixed lunch I thought it would be a better meal if I was hanging out with Mrs. Fuzz and every time I saw a cute dress I wanted The Bug and Gia to see it too. But I had to get through a week of close familial scrutiny first.
It was good my sister came. She thought I looked wow, and everybody who saw us thought I was the younger one (not true, and I don't know why she asks people this, because somebody always has to suffer over the answer). But I love her dearly, my very good sister, who lived through thick and thin with me, back in the day when we had no power. There aren't any words for how I feel about her.
We talked a lot. A lot, a lot, a lot. And she was fairly cheerful to rest on the bed instead of the sofa I am supposed to have but don't (the cats scratched it to hell, you understand). And I even managed to fix a huge dinner for her and my b-i-l. We ate it on the roof deck, and it was pretty grand. Big salad, chicken, you know--nothing extraordinary. Just the first dinner I've fixed for anyone in seven years or maybe more. We went to all the Memorials, the museum, we walked and I scandalized her by treating taxicabs as reliable transportation (although we mostly took public transit). We wore ourselves out by day, and I was insomniac by night, but it was good she came and we had fun.
I knew my pre-arranged National Firefighter's Week stuff came out, and I thought about Joe Schmoe. I thought about Sandra and Raindog and Christopher, I thought about Slam, and everyone really. I was angry at myself on September 30 and October 31, not keeping up with the memorial posts I do. I will do those later, and put them into the blog. Because even though I didn't write, I didn't forget.
So. I was coming back, a lot sooner than this. And you know, it is hard to write this post, because I know I haven't been a good friend. I want to say I'm sorry. I haven't even read your letters yet; haven't read the comments; don't know how much I've failed everyone. I've been afraid to do it. This post is what you call the first step.
So, I was coming back, a lot sooner than this. But since November started, there has been Zombie War for sure, and they opened a second front of attack. Suffice it to say there is a warrant out for one of our Zombies, and he is still at large. (No, he didn't kill anyone--later. Later.)
I'm going to read your letters--then I'll be back. I missed you all terribly. I'll be writing people back over the next few days, and catching up on your blogs. It's going to take me awhile.
I have missed you all so much. I'll be writing soon.