I used to be fierce.

I was funny. Entertaining. Smart. People enjoyed being around me. People sought my company. Wanted to spend time with me. I was definitely all three dimensions. I pretty much did whatever I wanted. I may not have always been happy, or healthy, but gol darnnit I was independent. I was an individual.

I’m not going to lie to you. For the past 3 months, life has been The Suck. And I decided, several weeks ago, to just stop doing things. I haven’t cooked a meal in a long time. What little interest I had in housekeeping has long since fled. I have developed a close friendship with my high definition tv.

I flattened.

When I was single and alone, I could tell you everything. If I wanted to. Life gets more complicated and sometimes I chose respect for others and privacy. This is what I am doing now. So I apologize if you sometimes get the “what” without me giving you the “why.”

I am not good at writing from a place of pain. I don’t write poetry. I’m not especially elegiac. I write in paragraphs, not short burst of emo. It’s not my shtick. When I write comfortably, I write from a place of humor.

But I’ve lost mine. I’m working on getting it back. But I can’t promise some anger, frustration, sadness and other ick doesn’t seep out.

I’ll do my best.

Because I used to be fierce and I can be that way again.