Don't tell anyone I'm writing this. I'm at work and should really be working, but I just wanted to say hello.
Some of you have come here because of a link elsewhere (I don't know how I started showing up on that website, but it's pretty cool, I think) to a picture of me. It didn't seem right to post a picture of myself here, so I took it down. This is my lighthouse, my refuge from the world - a place of solace and solitude. Though I blather on about the mundane details of my life, the focus really isn't on me. Does that make sense?
I can feel something struggling to find its way out. Does it ever strike you that way, those of you who trade in words? I can almost see the words, like alphabet soup on my tongue - the letters are arranging themselves into coherent thought and will all at once leap out onto paper. If I happen to have paper on hand, that is.
In the meantime, I'm being rather indolent on this sleepy Saturday morning up on the third floor. I can hear an ice cream cone calling my name. Do you hear it, too?
*I am a little bit giddy because Manchester United is currently ahead 3-1 over Fulham, but it's not even half time yet, so I don't want to start celebrating just yet.