Is there any excuse for the hiatus that has separated my last, casual attempt at a poem from now? If there is I will strive to make it, and for the drabness of the title, but I promise you no miracles. The first few months of disappearance may be accounted for by my adventures abroad, which took up the whole of fall semester and occupied my time, if not with writing here, then writing in my chronicles of my Roman days. And since then? Well, suffice to say the muse is a greedy little tart. If the current work doesn’t feed her passion, she immediately drops off. Not to say that I have not written. I’m well through what seems to be the seventh version of the third version of Dark Moon, and ironing out those difficulties which for my pride’s sake I can’t publish for free here. Then there have been my stories for Introduction to Fiction Writing, which may make an excerpted appearance here if I dare to show them. And grad school? Well, that beast and all it requires has been devouring my time all summer, with little more to show for it than a One Note labyrinth of resources and the probable beginnings of an ulcer.
So there are my excuses, if any can be made. But I care too much to abandon this, so I’ll start up again, in perhaps less ambitious fashion. No need for a daily rambling, when my Rome blog is still awaiting its conclusion and three weeks will have me slumped over a desk performing statistical analyses. So what has changed in nearly a year? By my little list of facts, not much. I’m still crossing my fingers for a Sox playoff run. I still haven’t finished The Idiot, though I’ve chowed through at least a dozen books, not counting those for class, since I started it. I’m still listening to roughly the same music, I’m still tired and cranky, and ironically enough, or is that coincidentally, I’m still enjoying the sound of the rain.
So there is my re-introduction. Good to meet you again too. Now that we know each other, let us never speak of this absence again.