Drying out

How did I manage to stop writing for three months? It's a sign, I tell you. I'm utterly convinced I turned down the wrong path late this summer. And now I'm grabbing my life back. THEY can't have my soul.

So, random thoughts on things that matter to me this morning:

I took rare, giggly delight from watching the Michigan fans bawling in the stands this weekend. Nicely played, Ohio State, even if you did blow it the weekend before. A Rose Bowl spot still feels like the ultimate to me.

Today marks two weeks since Sahara left the earth. It still burns.

I finally read Eat, Pray, Love and truly appreciated most of it. But I would've been happier if I'd skipped the last 50 pages. Blah.

Yesterday I made black bean soup, just sort of randomly out of my head, without sausage. It was silky and divine. The smoked pork hock was loaded with meat and definitely added dimension. Even though J pigged out, I have four quarts in the fridge--two for the freezer, two for tonight. Whee!

2007 has turned into one of the most painful years of my life. I'm not using phrases like "it can't get any worse" anymore because I recognize that it can. And has. And will some more. But I'm still on the ship. And best as I can tell, I am still steering.