Am I Always Apologizing? Sorry, I Guess I Am.

Rank weed growth. That is what I came home to. I was already far behind in my gardening efforts because of the Romantic Influenza, okay and who I am, add to that 8 days actually gone, one day packing, one day baking, and there were just to many weeds and mayhem for my mind to handle when we arrived home. So I have completely ignored and therefore failed in my blogging, I suppose not completely failed, there were a few times when I guiltily remembered that I wasn't writing, and at least twice I opened my computer, stared at my apple-blossom screen, woke with a start to a blank screen instead, closed my computer and purposefully went to sleep.

But I press on. Determined to be a better blogger. This of course reminds me all to well of the large stacks of nearly empty journals I own. If I cared to look at any of them, not today, I am trying not to be sidetracked for at least a day, I am sure I would find no more than 10 or so entries in the"fullest" of them. But then there are far more yellow note pads scattered lovingly about the house in a non-incriminating manner full of random writings amid grocery lists and sketches of garden plans or redecorating ideas. So although I understand that blogging is akin to "journaling" I need to view this whole thing as nothing more than a yellow note pad. I am going to ignore the fact that every blog post is dated, very few in my stack of journals are ones with dates pre-stamped, I learned early on that those were the ones that were only going to have four or five entries total. Interesting that some people are encouraged, built up, matured by the very things that kill... alright, hyperbole caught... cripple or stunt others.

I have a matching set of check registries to go with my journals. When I kept a check registry I had the most beautifully handwritten, truly complete registry. For ten days worth of check writing. Which for me usually equaled ten calendar days. Dirt also does not keep a check registry and really never has. The key difference is that he knows within a few dollars how much is in our checking account at any given moment (as long as he sees the size of my shopping bags or the amount of green leafy things in the back of my Exploder). It is bizarre and mind-boggling to me how he can do that. I couldn't even manage a decent guess and if I try I am hundreds off. Which is why he never asks me how much I spent for the day and just looks instead because I always think it is far less than reality. I would like to believe it because I am an optimist and not because I am a knucklehead. But in reality knucklehead (okay, twice now I have spelled knucklehead, knicklehead) is the origin of such nonsense and nothing like a noble attempt at optimism.

Here though is to my blogging endeavors (see me raise my coffee cup slightly to the left of my keyboard) and to you my dear friend who desires to read this silly stuff I think of. May they, my blogs, always be as consistent as we both can stand.