Or maybe I can.
I've read a few emails, tweets and Facebook posts asking me where I've been.
Truth? I've not written much since meeting my ex-stripper-friends in Vegas this MAY.
Too close too home. Like watching a movie where the final scene scrapes your spine. Nails on gravel.
I love those women. Who they've become. The strength and character they possess.
It's just that, in meeting them after over two decades, I struggled to find myself.
Where was my strength? Did I have character, or was I victim to the well-oiled machine of The Writer wanting to be heard? The one who'd share her story of stretching out on life's gurney. It's wheels filled with self-doubt and coveted solace.
I needed space from my inner most self - my truth. I needed the sand in her hourglass to fall effortlessly in to the air. My space is finally settling.
This is going to sound vain. But I don't care. I feel your love and appreciate your noticing this emtpy chair.
I'm back.
Thanks for keeping my table.
