Just when I needed it most

We're just about ready to put the house on the market. The painting and refinishing and packingpackingpacking (and filling a 10 X 10 storage unit almost to the ceiling) and purging is almost done.

I've been neglecting my writing. Have only written one poem (and that was about packing) in the past several-or-more months. I think I did crank out a story or two. And I've hardly blogged at all. Not much to say.

And for awhile I kept worrying that my Erobintica days had seen their best and that she'd be slowly fading away. Because it felt like that to me. Inside. Where the spark for her lived. Yeah, I was thinking past-tense when it came to my erotic core. I won't enumerate the reasons for that. Because I discovered she wasn't gone, just asleep.

Several good, no, make that great! things have happened lately, to give me a bit of a boost just when I needed it most. Some I can write about, some I can't. But let's just say that I'm back and ready to gaze below the surface again. :)

Do I revive this blog?

Since April ended, I have only written eight (8!) blog posts here. The reasons are numerous. And now I've gotten out of the habit of writing posts. And that makes it harder to pick it up again. And I've wondered whether that means that this blog's days are past. And that makes me sad. And sort of angry.

Why angry? Because I let this happen. I could point to this and that and the other in order to fix blame. But it simply comes down to this. I did not make room in my days to sit down and blog. And this wasn't always consciously. I'd have "write blog post" on my to-do list, but would always find some excuse to skip over it. Eight posts in four and a half months. And two of those months there was only one post!

Had this blog become unimportant to me? No, not at all. I take pride in the nickname Erobintica. I've made some very good friends through this blog. I've taken steps that I never would have without it. But I still have such a long ways to go.

This year is a year of transitions for me. Notice the word "smooth" is missing from that sentence. The way does not seem to be paved. I could make some four-wheeling comment here, but I won't. But I do need to keep moving.

For a bit, I pondered just closing up shop and dropping out of sight. I'd found that I was afraid to write what I wanted to write because... I want people to like me and it occurred to me that if I wrote as honestly as I wanted to needed to, that I could/would alienate not only strangers and acquaintances alike, but even the very people I love (and who love me). Yeah, wanting to be "liked" can be a huge hindrance. Limiting. Inhibiting. Paralyzing. I'm not sure I'm strong enough to say "fuck it all I don't care what anybody thinks!" Not sure I want to be though. Caring is what makes me me.

I honestly don't know what I'll be like in this next stage of my life.

So, possibly against better judgement, I've decided to revive this blog. I'm going to try to not let my low stats get to me. I'll try not to let a lack of comments get to me. I've always had a terrible case of no comment = negative reaction. Just ask the folks closest to me. Ha! It would be so nice to get a little bit of self-esteem before I'm history.

I have no idea what this revived blog will look like. I probably won't change how it looks right now. That's partly because I know that changing things always screws something up and I'm so fucking particular that I would waste inordinate spans of time trying to fix some mess-up in an innocuous post from 2 years ago that nobody reads! Also, I like the way my blog looks. Even though it's one of those black-background themes that so many people don't seem to like (hard on the eyes, pretentious, what-have-you).

So, welcome to my "new" blog. Erobintica.

Just a poem

The Nickname

It's missing, the actual email.

The one before it and after, saved.

Both sent the same day.

So I do know when. But I can't look

at it and remember.

But I remember.

So clever. Memorable.

I was thrilled. Nobody

had ever given me a nickname

before. Oh, I'd been called names,

but no sobriquet, used with affection.

So, without knowing it, she named

a part of me that had long been living

in the shadows, afraid, ashamed. In that naming,

came strength, a braveness that had not known

the light of day.

Tonight, on the eve of the anniversary

of her leave-taking, I think of her. Miss her.

She knew there was only one.