Why my blog has been asleep

Because I have been in a state of attempted concatenation for the past four months.

Not quite half a gestation period, but long enough to realize that attempting to concatenate is not all that pleasant.

Everything is up in the air, and I will write some more another day. It’s enough that I am writing this today.

Because writing something about my life means that it is real, somehow. Putting it down on paper makes it real. And I don’t at ALL feel that what I’ve been living lately has been real. Or else… it’s so very real that it’s depressing. I can’t quite tell the difference, I’m afraid. When I was in Cambodia, it wasn’t “real” either, but it seemed ô so much more real than living in this chambre de bonne with my belongings spread all about the French countryside and my future a huge question mark.

As I said, more another day. All is not lost, I’m not really depressed any more. It’s just that I’m still not really anywhere at all either, and I don’t know what to tell you, what to say that would be even remotely interesting at this junction.

I am walking. I am alive. That shall suffice.

It is the 13th of January, I live at 13 Square de Port Royal in the 13th arrondissement. In the eagle’s nest.

Things ARE looking up, I must say; I’ve been invited for coffee, for a concert, for a Skype, for a business meeting, for another concert, and all since yesterday morning. It seems a non-depressed person is more appealing than a depressed person. Go figure.

B.