Return to the scene of the crime

I'm not a good blogger. I once told a friend of mine, who is a wonderful writer and consistent blogger, that I could never do it well because I would continually edit myself down to an empty page. I'm never going to be the regular poster. I know that about myself. And if there's anything my french stylist, Phillipe, has taught me it's that I must know myself! That, and I should keep volume in the crown whenever I get a cut. So I find myself with things to share. Normally, I'd use Facebook but lately it's outside my digital reach.
So I return to my poor, neglected nub of a blog.

After months away, I shoulder my way thru the door - the log-in still works but the abandoned hinges protest with a groan. Looking around I see my unpublished drafts sitting in an inch of dust. There are no cobwebs or comments, not the faintest of signs of digital life. There isn't even spam. The hermetic seal of a site ignored by the internet has kept it undisturbed, like the lost tomb of an ancient Egyptian.

There's definitely work to do. But for now, there's a place to put things which is all I really need.