I have no explanation for my absence other than the fact that May is kind of a jerk.

It rolled in with me crossing a half marathon off my life-list on a beautiful morning, then the sun appeared and flowers bloomed, there were weekend getaways, fresh air, laughter, and friends started coming out of their homes like spring-struck zombies carrying grilled hamburgers and coolers of beer. See? May is a jerk because it makes all the other months look bad.

There are a lot of things going on my life that I can’t discuss here; like, my bangs for instance. We really shouldn’t talk about my bangs. They are in that awkward, growing-out stage where I have to apologize for them a lot. I’m sorry for my bangs.

My whole life is like my bangs, really. Everything is in that awkward, growing stage where you aren’t sure of your footing or where your next step will lead. That is why I almost packed a bag and flew out to Utah on a whim to hike in Zion National Park (another life-list item). Because I’ve heard there’s no better time to walk up the side of a cliff than when you aren’t sure of your footing. Wait…maybe it was my estranged husband who told me that.

But, despite being unsure of the road ahead, I am eager to see where it leads. Facing so many unknowns – facing fears I never thought I would need to face…EVER – well, it’s resulted in me being a lot more fearLESS. I guess some people would call it an awakening. Either that, or stupid. Whatever you call it, I think it’s pretty grand.

Let me see if I can break it down into something everyone can understand. Beef.

Let’s say you always order chicken. Occasionally, when you’re feeling a little crazy, you get yourself a piece of salmon, but most of the time it’s just chicken. You always get chicken, because you don’t like steak. Plus, steak is expensive.

But, everyone keeps telling you how delicious steak is and you’re really missing out by not ordering it. So, one day you think I’m going to try this ONE MORE TIME and you order a ribeye that’s been marinating for, what tastes like, a million years. It’s tender, it’s delicious, it melts in your mouth. You really have been missing out. You hate it when your friends are right!

It turns out that all this time you were just ordering the wrong cut of meat. And, this is not a metaphor for my relationship, it’s really about steak. And, life. Steak IS life. Take that, chicken.

So, that’s what I’m trying to do. I’m trying all the steaks. I’m noticing how blue the sky is, how beautiful the music sounds, how joyous my children are, how cold the beer is, how soft my bed feels, and I’m letting it all marinate and enjoying it on a big, fat, life platter.

And May has been a LOT of that. I guess she’s not so bad after all.

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After networking and learning at the Erma Bombeck Writer’s Workshop over the weekend, I came home, unpacked, put the business cards I collected into a pile, and started reading one of the three books I brought home. But, before I can really start processing everything, there are some questions lingering on the surface of my brain. I need to ask them before I can dive any deeper.

1. I worked in retail all through high school and college and even spent a couple of years on my feet every day as a lunch lady; so why, outside of pregnancy, do I only get cankles when I’m at a conference? You haven’t seen edema until you’ve seen conference feet.

2. Where is housekeeping when I really need them?

3. Why aren’t there roses and candles on my dinner table? Speaking of dinner, who’s going to make it?

4. After stalking author W. Bruce Cameron for an afternoon, why does this picture of the two of us have to show that I have a nose so large, it casts a shadow on my chin?

5. And, why does attempt #2 look like I have a floating head the size of a pumpkin?

6. Seriously?

7. Where’s my dessert?

8. Why are my pants so tight?

9. Why doesn’t the cashier at Target want my business card?

10. How can I bottle the hilarious, heartfelt stories and laughter from 350 other people, bring it home and drink from it any time?

11. Why hasn’t Phil Donahue called?

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I didn’t think I’d ever write again.

I’m not trying to be dramatic; if so, I would admit this with a slumped neck and the back of my hand held to my forehead. If you’re not dramatic like a southern belle, well you’re just not dramatic at all.

No, there’s no drama in the statement that I didn’t think I’d ever write again. It was just a matter of fact; a brick wall into which I ran. Actually, I just kind of walked into it and there I gazed into the mortar every day, trying to move my feet forward while facing that brick wall. I took steps, but I didn’t go anywhere.

What bothered me, was that this didn’t bother me. I was okay with being in this place, because I didn’t really have any other choice. There was this ho-hum acceptance of where I was over the last couple of months. Ho-hum, brick wall, la dee dah.

So what were the things that kept me from writing? If I had to guess I’d say first and foremost, winter. If I could weave you any tale with grandeur, it would be my disdain for winter. It would sound very Shakespearean and involve a lot of “doths,” like, “Back off winter, I am doth DONE with you.”

Because of my husband’s schedule, I spent a lot of January in a bad place; a lonely, dark, FREEZING COLD place. Hi, honey! Love you! It was so bad that I actually looked at homes for sale in L.A. Mmm hmm, Los Angeles, people. I needed real people to talk to and I didn’t care if they were complete strangers and mostly said, “Dude.”

But, February meant my husband was home more often and it means that March is coming soon and thank goodness it’s a short month! *said with slumped neck and back of hand to forehead*

There was also the death of Philip Seymour Hoffman. No, I didn’t know him. I didn’t even know his name was spelled with one ‘l’ until he died, but when he passed it felt like someone came up behind me at the brick wall, picked me up and threw me into it.

I know people who have died from heroin overdoses. I know people who are in jail because of heroin. It’s personal. And, here was this guy with nearly-limitless resources, talent, assistants, managers, and no doubt housekeepers and a nanny, who could not keep this demon at bay. That scares me.

What about the people who are struggling to just keep their jobs and houses out of foreclosure, and take care of the kids, who might have the urge to take away some of the stress and pain? How do we stop them from using heroin to take them to a place that makes them feel better? How do we stop them from trying it the first time? How do we make sure our kids don’t try something the FIRST TIME? I still don’t know the answer to that. Damn it.

And there was Dylan Farrow (I will not type his name here), the terror threats in Sochi, and so much unbelievable news that I just couldn’t be that One. More. Voice. on the Internet.

But then something snapped, and by snapped I mean it was like a twig soaked in water, then bent back and forth until the bark came off. Then I twisted the wet, woody fibers underneath and gnawed on them a little. It was like that kind of snap. All of a sudden, or not suddenly at all, I wanted to write again.

And, I can’t really tell you why. Maybe it was my med changes, spring on the horizon, tougher workouts, completion of some work projects, more time with friends…I don’t know and it doesn’t matter. All I know is that I turned my back on that brick wall and I was writing.

I don’t know which direction I’m heading, but damn it feels really good to be moving again.

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I had a ton of stuff to do this weekend and I didn’t get any of it finished. Not even close.

Not a single load of laundry, no grocery shopping, no vacuuming or dusting. I did help my husband bag some leaves, I put a load of clothes in the washer (but have not yet moved it from there), and I sanded a hand-me-down nightstand for my son’s room – just so you don’t think I’m a complete waste.

Though I didn’t muster the energy to fold towels, I did force myself to celebrate the birthday of a wonderful friend, sit around a firepit, spend a lazy afternoon in bed watching a movie, go to church, see my son jump in a pile of leaves, eat dinner with my mom, go to an arcade with my husband, and spend two hours dropping off bags to collect food for the needy.

Until I thought about it, I felt like nothing had been accomplished over the last couple of days because I didn’t work and I didn’t clean, but life happened. Fun happened. Celebration, faith, volunteering, friends, and family happened.

It turns out I did get a ton done.

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