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I feel compelled to admit that, in starting to work on the previous entry, I realized I could not find the awesome little notebook I've been using to draft stuff.  

Since I was home, instead of out and about, I could've just gone ahead and worked on the computer, but no.  Instead, everything came to a Full. Stop. while we searched the entire house for it. (It's actually a pretty small place, less than 700 sq. ft., but trust me, I keep lots of stuff in it.)  
Anyone who was ever in workshop with me would probably think this explains why I never seemed to get any writing done, but I wasn't like this then, I swear. (It's kind of inconvenient to get to an MFA program and then figure out that having a poem due every week is gonna cause your brain to melt, but what can you do?)

I haven't managed to bring myself to do any of the real LJ stuff yet, like join a community, or even fill out my profile, because it just seems daunting.  I've tried adding some tags tonight, but I feel like I'm kind of clumsy at it.

And the whole friending dynamic scares me (seriously, I would've been the girl hiding in the corner at parties in high school except I didn't go to parties.  I was the most exasperating older sibling ever—everyone knows one of the benefits of coming second is that someone has already broken trail with Mom and Dad on dating, curfew, all the sticky social stuff...but she was pretty much ahead of me from the word go.)

Part of why I'd been resisting the idea of writing again, be it a blog or poetry (despite some lovely encouragement from unexpected quarters), is because I was pretty sure I just couldn't do it any more.  Like that part of my brain had fallen asleep. 

And yet—there be words here!  It's astonishing, I tell you.