I am back for about two seconds from a brief and accidental hiatus from writing for this blog. I got to the end of last semester and realized that I needed to sleep for a thousand years, and then life caught up with me for a while.

This has been an interesting time.

Since the beginning of this summer, I feel like I’ve jumped feet first back into the world. I have so many stories that need telling, but this isn’t the right place nor the right moment.

There have been campfires.

I’ve fallen in love, a little bit, for like a grand total of seven minutes. There were caterpillers. And then I picked myself up, again. I’m walking with a bit of a limp. My knees are still a little dusty, but the scrapes are healing. No hydrogen peroxide was applied to open wounds.

I’ve fallen asleep in the back of the car, on the way home from trivia night at a gay bar in the city. Our table was the best table. We won a shot of strawberry lemonade vodka, from which everyone took a sip.

I have sat cross legged on the floor of a living room with two amazing humans. We played slap jack until our knuckles were sore.

I’ve unearthed dusty boxes of seashells and fabric and glassware and cassette tapes that used to be my grandmother’s, in the attic over the kitchen. It is tough emotional work.

I’ve worked out that I am roughly a size 30 in men’s cargo shorts, which is tremendously useful information to have.

I have accumulated what feels like an unnecessary amount of knowledge about serial killers. This predominantly happens as I’m drifting off to sleep.

I’ve taught myself how to paint, a little bit. I tried to paint lots and lots of naked women, but the boobs are unexpectedly tricky and I still can’t get the shading right.

Aaand I’ve learned how to take a hit like I know what I’m doing.

It has been wild.

I want to sit with you and tell you these stories. Maybe, someday. Maybe I will write them down.

I hope you’re having a good night.