Should Joan Crawford’s face not say enough, why yes, I haven’t quite been myself lately.
See, for quite some time, I’ve been thinking about how–save for the infrequent post here or there–I’ve really been a terrible mother to this blog. Simply terrible. Like Annette Bening in Running With ‘Command X’, or Faye Dunaway in Tina-Bring-Me-The-Axe.Tumblr.Com. Oh, the guilt! Oh, the shame. It’s crippling stuff, darling.
More importantly, though, I recently came to a most important decision that a few small (or very big, depending upon the view) life changes just had to be made. Needless to say, I’ve found myself with a bit more time on my hands.
Sure, I’m no sissy when it comes to idle hands (I’m just a sissy all around), but I knew I needed something to do. Knitting isn’t apropos during a heat advisory, and I’ve seen Candy Crush Saga ruin people’s lives. (Seriously, that game is like a less gauche meth addiction. Now please excuse me while I clear all the jelly.)
Anyways, as I see it, there only ever was one choice: get back to this blog, and get back to it for good. Because writing it has always brought me happiness like white diamonds luck to Elizabeth Taylor. And because even if I don’t personally know you, you’ve found your way here by some shared interest, and that’s something that matters. I love this blog, and I love y’all, too.
(As for those here by Google search gone horribly, horribly wrong? I’m sorry. This is not the dick GIFs blog you’re looking for.)
Now, about Susan Sontag’s “Notes on Camp”: