~Once my postings were rambling and incandescent things...
I spoke more of me, although apparently enigmatically... This was artlessly achieved... I did not try to be artful. I was just being mad old me. Folk stopped by to comment. I love that!
And I wibbled about fate and The Fates, time and tide, love and loss, myth and misses, and loads of good folk arrived to comment...
And now? I write swiftly and hurriedly of loved and my much-beloved things. I squeeze all of this beauty (a mon avis - in my opinion), edutainment, extravaganza and just Plain Piffle between a full-time job, shoddy parenting of a Truculent Teen, reading like a book-worm, slobbily writing to-do-lists, and generally turning into a sloth-like critter about the house.
Stuff and nonsense. Music and melody. Love and longing...
And I wonder why do you stick around -
(Why do you come here? How did you find me?)
- You whom I love - When I scarcely meet the standard of my earlier, more full-time, blogging episodes. I am not worthy...
I am sooooooooooooo not worthy...
So few people seem to stop by these days to talk, and I wonder why... I was feeling a little dampened when I wrote this, so sorry for the wibbling out loud...
Go, ask me some questions, please? At least then I'll know whether it's worth carrying on, (...if anyone cares apart, of course, from my dahlinks, (you know who you are!), who keep me from scaling the rooftops in search of a place to perch and plummet!).
