It is so cold, it burns

I have the polar vortex blues.   I just finished a very long winded book about the futility of  time "The Magic Mountain" which certainly did not mitigate the existential angst.  Heart palpitations brought on by stress are not helping all the much, either.

What does one do to emerge from a philosophical funk?  I have opted to take on a more active role at church, including joining a covenant circle to get to know a few congregants more deeply.  I'm working hard to get the director of religious education ordained as a minister.  Apparently individual congregations can "call up" a member and ordain them.  It is like getting called up from the minors to the big game, except that congregations rarely do it....a Quixotic task always takes one out of oneself.

I'm going to try to go on a bobsled run in the near future and attempt to get my husband 50 things for his birthday.  So far, I have 27 and that is counting a six pack of beer as six things.  I have a new pair of black cowboy boots (thanks mom) that I am wearing every other day so New Englanders can  wonder if I am training for a rodeo in the near future.  I have added a new yoga class with another sassy older teacher who takes no yoga excuses....and hands me excessive amounts of props.

I continue to go to work, against all odds.  Nuff said.  

But most of all, I am trusting that when the light and the heat return, when the polar vortex is a cold, dark memory that my balance will be restored.  What the hell, polar vortex.  What the hell!

Dear Blog

Hey there, you are looking good.  Have you lost a few words?  No?  Listen,  I have been meaning to write but with the holidays and the kids birthdays, you know how it goes.  Yes, that's right, I usually do write about that during this time of year.  What?  No, I have not been writing with any other medium.

#LIAR!!!!!!

Listen, there is no need to go all Caps and get over excited with exclamation points.  I can explain Twitter.  Easily.  In fact, so easily.  And so quickly.  It's not you, it's me.

  Don't be like this.  I'm here now, right?  Droning on and on and making my circuitous points.  I hope there is room in my writing life for both you and Twitter.  In fact, I am starting to experience Twitter fatigue as I had to sort through many posts about the Golden Globes and which star flipped off which camera.

In the end, this is a letter of apology.  I am following pithy comedians, British football, Joyce Carol Oates, and the Huffington Post but I need more.  Although you feel a bit bloated and over wrought, you still give me the space I need to meander toward truth.

So I am back.  Short and sweet ain't always a feat.

Happy New Year!