I’ve been trying not to take up too much real estate here in blog land being sad about Henry. Losing him was the worst experience I’ve had since starting off whatever it is I do with this webpage. Worse than both the broken marriages, far beyond any moment of disgruntle. For what it’s worth, I still cry every day. Since losing him, my posts have had steady gaps. I want to get back to the diligence and excitement of daily posts, I’m just trying to get around the dead feeling.
What can I say. Some people have kids, I have dogs.
So, trying to be lighter, my new apartment is the most wonderful place I have yet to reside. It’s so surreal reading early posts with no conception of how I was going to get to New York City, where I’d live or how I’d feed myself.
Now I write full-time and live in a doorman building a few blocks from Times Square. At the start of my madness, I thought going to an office was making me crazy. I’ve learned that’s not so much the case.
This week is all about Lily Peanut and books. I have three poetry books completed and only one available online because of all my stumbling over the past 24 months. I’m going to do something about that.