I know it's all so very meta

I keep avoiding blogging because I think the same thing when I was a little kid trying to keep a diary. I thought that since months or years went by between entries, it was no use to write since I could never catch up what happened in that lost time. But maybe that's a stupid reason not to write.

I'm rusty, though. My wit is dull and my mind can't think of anything interesting. We left Las Vegas. Not like Nic Cage, thank goodness, but more like Sheryl Crow. Wait, I looked at the lyrics for that song, so no, not like her either, but more alive than he was, for sure. I quit my job, B quit his job, I came out to NM to find a place to live, he packed up all our stuff, I went back and helped pack the truck, we drove out here, my family helped us move into a 30 year old trailer complete with the most serious faux wood paneling, and now we live here. 

We've been here a month. I am attempting to shake the cobwebs out of my mental cupboard, to flex and strengthen my atrophied ha-ha muscles so I can entertain you one or two persons who like to read what I type. (Full disclosure: I love to read my own stuff. There, I said it, I am disgustingly self-impressed. I think I am the most hilarious person I know. So, maybe I'll start writing for my own well-being, because why am I denying myself the deelight of reading the wise and pithy notes that flow like liquid gold from my fingers through my too-small apple keyboard? Why, indeed.)

Well, that's all I've got for now.