I'm sorry I didn't see you there

This is me trying to take my blog back from the spectre of my dog's death.  The sun is setting, and I'm sitting in my underwear waiting for the smoke to clear from the kitchen, trying to figure out what I'm going to wear for TV on Friday...and trying to take my blog back.

For months I've had inner monologues bursting out of my skull, desperate to escape and bore someone else.  I've opened my blog so many times, but until today I could not find a good enough reason to hit 'New Post.' It was as if my nonsensical rambling about Edward's death was some kind of monument to him, and it was as if any new post would dishonor him.

What else could I possibly have to say?

How could I move on?

Eh, "move on" isn't really the right term.  I don't think I have or will move on in some ways, but in the very concrete way of using my blog...I guess maybe I am moving on.

Sort of.

Maybe.

We'll see.

Did you hear that?

Day 11, not the assignment

Everyone loves listening to thunderstorms. The wind through the leaves, the gusts, the rain and the echoing surprise of thunder are a big draw, but none of them is my favorite. I love the sound of wind chimes during a storm.

Sometimes it's an ominous tinkle and sometimes a quiet cacophony. I love the way it raises the hair on the back of my neck. I love how creepy that innocent chime can be.

Tonight, Edmund and I sat on the porch in the big comfy chairs with only the hurricane lantern. We watched and listened, and sometimes ran out to splash in the puddles. It was a simple, lovely pleasure, and it was totally worth giving up writing for.

That's it, night night.