I guess I have been missing. And I'm pretty sure no one is missing me. What compels a person to stop writing for months at a time, then pick up again all-of-the-sudden?
Elementary, my dear Watson.
The answer to the first part of the question is: love.
The second part: heart-break.
Writing is necessary, cathartic, more articulate and interesting if it's written with all the pain of being young, beautiful, and tragically over-dramatic.
But I won't go into that.
Since Greece, I have had a myriad of changes in my life. One, and most importantly, my parents and younger brother packed up and moved to York, UK, permanently. My sister bounced across the street to live with our old neighbours, and I landed myself in a big old house in Garneau with a couple of friends.
I started my last semester of my undergrad, and to my surprise and delight I get to fill my hours with painting, sculpture, and Roman Africa. Such a lovely mixture.
I get to balance paying the bills and buying groceries and raking leaves (though lately it's been more shovelling snow) with hosting parties, not making my bed every day, and the luxury of having no parental supervision.
Another reason why I have decided to revisit this blog is because in my mind, this format is a little bit like having an impartial judge listen to me blather on and on, without trying to get in my pants, worm some guilt from my soul, or sell me something.
Ah. It's nice to return.