M.I.A.

Ok, ok. I know what you’re thinking. Where the hell have I been? Where do I get off teasing charming anecdotes and promises of tales from boyfriends past, and then just flaking out for months at a time?

Fear not, legions of fans. I’m back. With clarity. And excuses. Let’s start with the latter.

Here goes... the Top 15 Reasons that I haven’t been blogging. And like any good author would do, I’m leaving the “fact or fiction” determination up to you.

1. I fell for a gorgeous Frenchman and I spend all of my free time in his bed.
2. I've been in hiding. Some nut job woman was so convinced that I was sleeping with her husband that I refused to spend more than 30 minutes at my house at a clip; for fear that she would break in and chop me into little blonde pieces.
3. Fell terribly ill and spent all of my days in doctors’ offices and all of my nights self-diagnosing. WebMD…friend or foe?
4. Volunteering at Santa’s workshop. Louboutins for all…and to all a good night.
5. Slaying deer.
6. Organizing my shoe closet.
7. Charting a new career path.
8. Perfecting my version of “Santa Baby” for the office holiday party.
9. Cataloging the reasons that I am terminally single.
10. Helping create a master race of brilliant, funny, charming Blondes.
11. Watching Sex and the City reruns.
12. Plotting the demise of Crocs.
13. Donning pink “S” leotard and canvassing the streets of Detroit, fighting crime and poverty.
14. Raking the hundreds of thousands of leaves that fall at my house annually.
15. Trying to prove that Blondes do indeed have more fun.

Well, that’s all the excuses. Now time for the clarity.

Yes, I’ve realized a few important things during my blogging hiatus. Not as a result of, but rather the reason for.

At the risk of sounding selfish, I realize now that I write for me. My writing is raw and transparent and insane. I find it virtually impossible to filter the layers of emotions from my text. Call it therapy. It is because of this that I find it nearly impossible to write about quirky, seemingly meaningless drivel when my life is in turmoil. That is to say that I am bound by my own psyche. First point of clarity, understood and appreciated.

Here’s the other thing I’ve realized. I am not a writer. I’m a thinker who happens to document blonde ramblings on paper. Writers can pour and pour and publish. I, on the contrary, think and think and write and rewrite and edit and fret and then (sometimes) publish. It is virtually impossible for me to write and post in fluid succession. I’m just not sure Type A personality and typewriter go together. Second point of clarity, understood and appreciated.

Alas, I once again find myself in a place to share. Enjoy what is to come… Somewhat sporadic. Somewhat edited. Always Blonde.