I don't write any more.
I don't do anything, really.
Well, that's not entirely true.
I clean the house. Do the laundry. Cook. Drive my kids to and fro and here and there.
But it feels like all the things that once defined ME - writing, reading, being good at stuff - are all gone.
No one blew in and took them. There was not some massive cataclysmic event that happened. They fell away, tiny piece by tiny piece. The pieces were so small at first that I didn't even notice them flaking away. They were small, insignificant. Not worth noticing. But as time passed and the pieces of ME fell faster and faster and now I don't feel like there's much left.
So here I am, writing on a blog that I set up over three years ago but never did anything about. I don't really have any intention of sharing. Just writing. Just for me.
It's my first attempt of gathering my broom and dustpan and starting to gather all the little bits of myself into one place again.
