And thus, here I am, back from my blogging sabbatical. (although “sabbatical” implies that my work here is “important” or “paid for,” which! it is clearly not.)

I think what happened is this:
What happened is this:

I kind of…freaked out, quietly, over the holidays.

I went home to Grand Rapids for a few days at Christmas.  It was probably the colorfully lit tree and Bing Crosby and family doting, but I got sadly nostalgic for the happier times in my life.  The emotional security I feel when I am with my family makes my other, Indiana life feel kind of like a roller coaster that I want desperately to get off.  I went through a soft kind of panic, wondering if it was my instinct, telling me to move back home. I was so perturbed that I didn’t even call my old friends to meet up.  It didn’t help that I was physically sick, with an ear infection/bad cold, too, but all I could manage was to isolate myself so as not to face my friends, the people I love, when I am feeling like ass.

The past month, I have done the exact opposite of what I should be doing to make myself feel better.  I should call my friends; I should be writing.  Lately, I am not proud of my life, and while there is nothing of which to be ashamed, I am my worst critic.  I am so hard on myself for not doing more, not being something better, that I paralyze myself.  And that, my friends, is not how progress is made.

Luckily, I think I’m coming out of this enough to pick up the damn phone and get in touch with people whom I’ve known and loved forever.  I called  last week and I just got off the phone with Jody, and I’ve felt 5872349273x better after both conversations.  Turns out, friendship is my Rx.  (Not to say that some marijuana wouldn’t help, because seriously, I need to get high, asap.)

I have this constant buzzing in my ear to spontaneously pick up and start the next chapter of my life somewhere completely unexpected.
It’s scary, in the exhilarating way.
Stay tuned, as this could prove to be very entertaining.