I’m baaaaaack…I think…

mourning-cloak-cocoon-emerging

That’s me, on the right. Cute! Look at that nose.

I emerge from exile, like a kidnap victim held in an underground bunker by a conspiracy theorist for a decade, eyes squinting at the light, shocked by the fashions. Tentatively, I step towards my saviours, besieged by sirens and whirling lights. People are shouting, “Pamela! How does it feel to join the land of the living again?” and “Pamela! Are you finally going to frickin’ WRITE something?” It’s been something of a time, as they say.

Deaths, and not just the famous ones, ailments, depression, writer’s block, laziness, tiredness and an overall sense of the world going to hell in a hand basket have kept me from writing anything but the terrible, awful, no-good words that I extracted with the grace of wresting rotten teeth from my own mouth with rusty pliers that then went into a couple of crappy chapters that will have to be entirely rewritten. And judging by that preceding ridiculous run-on sentence, you can see why they’ll need to be rewritten.

But here I am. Alive, not exactly kicking, but shuffling a bit, which is a far cry from the prone lump that I’ve been. I’ve even gotten some of my assignment done for the residency that I’m going to in New York City in a week and a half. This is huge, people. Huge. The fact that I’m writing anything at all feels like a miracle.

I’m going to write about food again soon, I promise. We had a funeral, where there was the usual funeral food, but because it was posh, it was catered, not provided by the Ladies Auxiliary in a church basement. It didn’t stop the salmon and tuna sandwiches on white bread from arriving, however. And then there was Christmas and all its attendant food thingies. Because of the death of my husband’s mum and lack of preparation/shopping/caring, we ended up at a friend’s house where, among other strange offerings, we ate kangaroo. And of course, it’s not Christmas without me getting gastroenteritis and not being able to keep anything in my system – I’m sure there’s some psychological component to this, but I’m too old and grumpy to explore.

Anyway, my friends, stay tuned. I’m half a chapter away from finishing the first draft of my book, and New York awaits. It’s going to be a time, I tell ya, and this one will be good. I hope.

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