Even Smart Asses Get The Blues

I was asked if my sparse posting as of late is because I am bored with this blog or if readership is down. Umm… neither. February Funk hit early this year.

A delightful combination of stress, holiday madness, more book rejections, some very shitty personal news, the appearance of snow and the disappearance of blue sky, magically laced together with poisonous amounts of any and all things sugary that I deliriously consumed like a cheap crack whore - and I was back napping with my head in the oven along side the dozens of tiny gingerbread men that I bake every year.

Not bored, just taking a not at all enjoyable time out. Utah, and I assume all snow bound states, seems to be made up of two types of people. Those that scamper to and fro trilling about winter being some miraculous adventure cake covered in creamy white newness, and those of us that want to kill those people. We are fine through the holidays, January is a challenge, but by February and March we are hanging on by our fingernails – if that. This year it seems to have hit a lot of us early. Many people I know crashed and burned after the holidays this year, as if the New Year brought some Egyptian plague that oozed house to house robbing us of our will to decoupage.

Therefore, many of us took our sad little selves to the doctor for Happy Pills and are slowly returning to the land of the living.

I love you, California, with your Golden Gate ajar.
I love your purple sunsets, love your skies of azure blue.
I love you, Catalina - you are very dear to me.
I love you, Tamalpais, and I love Yosemite.
I love you, Land of Sunshine - half your beauties are untold.
I loved you in my childhood, and I'll love you when I'm old.

[Insert heavy sigh.]