Yes, I have fallen off the face of the earth.
Okay, not really... gravity didn't decide to up and fail me, and I'm not floating around out there (or freezing, which I suppose would technically be the case) in space. It sure feels that way, though. (Actually, it feels like I've fallen right off and landed in a big ol' pit of crud.)
So, what is this abyss into which I've fallen, you ask? (And why the heck don't I have one of those "help, I've fallen" monitor thingies, har-de-har?)
Well, for one thing, work keeps on rearing its less-than-pretty head. (Owning your own business? Not so glamorous. If someone tells you otherwise, turn around and walk the other way. I mean it.)
Then there are the multiple governments which keep demanding another piece of our hot little pie, on a monthly and quarterly basis. (Not only does Uncle Sam come sniffing around for the daily special, but also the lesser uncles from three different states--and each one insists he is really quite hungry, and that pie sure does look tasty.) And here's something they never tell you about pie... it involves a whole boatload of paperwork, records, forms, copies, and mailings, in addition to a little something called money. (Yes, I would rather have fruit-filled-flaky-pastry-style pie, but as a small businessperson, this is what I get.)
Basic day-to-day stuff, of course, never goes away, for anyone. (Groceries? Urgh, again? Ditto for the prepping and cooking of all those groceries, plus laundry, dishes, housecleaning, bill paying, and the minimum of yardwork required to maintain a semblance of respectability in the 'hood.) I can't believe how much time these things suck up.
Friends. (Okay, that part's all good. :) I'm only a solitary being part of the time; the rest of the time, I need contact with my friends. Still, there are only so many hours in a day.)
Trying to think about/plan for the upcoming BlogHer convention--which should be an awesome time with some fantastic women. (I'm failing spectacularly on this one, though. At the rate I'm going, I'll probably show up late, with a suitcase stuffed with beat-up jeans and scruffy t-shirts... rather than be on time with the fabulous, cool things I'd rather take.)
A deep blue funk (because it just wouldn't be me without one of those hovering overhead).
What all that means to you is that I've managed to read maybe 75 pages in the last week. (Really. That's it.) Which also means no reviews, good or bad. (And that just plain stinks. Bites. Doesn't contribute to putting me in my happy place. Grr.)
But right now? I'm gonna go hug THIS:
There's definitely a boycat in my happy place. Oh, yes.