You would think that after so many years of working the transition from summer to fall would be easier for us. Yet I can’t seem to handle getting out of bed in the pitch dark until I’ve hit that snooze button at least twice. Can anyone else believe we’re in the second half of September? My mother probably has half of her Christmas presents bought already, for the love of Pete.

It’s the cocoon-like warmth that is just torture to give up. Particularly when I stretch the closest arm out from under the blankets (one sheet, TWO duvets, FYI) to slap the life out of my horrid little purple alarm clock and it is immediately covered in goose bumps. I yank that thing back under and pass out for those next nine minutes faster than you can say hot coffee. Lather, rinse, and repeat. Until we’re both cursing that damnit, we wanted to get into the office early today.

.::.

I don’t think there’s only one reason why I haven’t been here in so long. I’m not nearly so self-indulgent as to call it writer’s block. It may have more to do with needing some time away, in private. Because wow that Grief, she’s a bitch with a vice-like grip. For a long time, I believed I had lost my sense of humour. As a large part of maintaining this space requires me to be able to laugh at myself, this did not bode well.

The only way to explain it really is that everything about me is still here, but with the addition of a few ill-placed cracks and gaping holes. Some I am still working on patching up. Some I wouldn’t dare try. If you look real close you can see right through to the other side. That’s where this newer, extensively altered version of Me now resides.

.::.

Speaking of laughing at myself – don’t say I never give you anything:

Yep.

So that’s obviously me. I’m wearing a padded vest and gigantor earphones to fit my massive head, aiming a 12-guage rifle, trying to breathe slowly and keep steady before yelling, “PULL!!!”

Just before I missed my 833rd clay pigeon.

Actually, the truth is that I hit 4 out of about 40. I was crazy nervous to hold the gun the first time and had to force myself to stop shaking when I aimed. But once I pulled the trigger, the fear disappeared and it was actually really quite fun. I was concentrating so hard that my noggin was sweating until my colleague/teacher laughed and told me to stop trying so hard. To trust my instincts. That’s when I hit my first one, and I loooooved it.

The knuckle-dragging, cavewoman-like arms that I could barely lift the next day, not so much. That shiz is heavy, yo.

.::.

I considered trying to summarize the past nine or ten months of my life for posterity’s sake, to account for the considerable gap in our story here. The idea now seems a bit tedious, if not depressing.

It’s not as though there weren’t some really great moments we’ve experienced – there absolutely were. But I think that having survived it is enough for me. You’re all smart enough to guess that it hasn’t been easy. Rather than wade through the bad to report the good I think instead I’ll focus on moving forward, if that’s all right with you. It’s what’s gotten us through so far.

.::.

Now please do tell – what the heck have YOU all been up to?