I used to write. And I used to write good. For the past hour or so I have been trying to find an old blog post and in doing so have reminded myself how much I enjoy expelling my demons and at one point in time wasn't half bad at regurgitating the thoughts that (should not) have free reign inside this brain of mine. It makes me sad that the part of me that used to be able to wax poetic about absolutely nothing has taken a perpetual sabbatical.

As of Tuesday the, "irretrievably broken" marriage was legally negated by the stroke of a pen and the brandishing of a stamp. Wow...how fucking eloquent does THAT sound? Do you think I can respond with that when asked about my marital status because I think I will regardless. Its a very strange feeling. That is the best way to describe it. The process has been in the works for over a year now so despite the ups and downs and back and forth, it has been a long time coming. What I am trying to say is, I am OK.

Now for book number two. Jesus, do I even have the capacity for a sequel? I don't that I do.