It's not that I don't love you anymore

I do, really and truly. And I think about you guys and wonder what you're up to. (One could argue that if I want to know what you're up to then I should log in and find out. But that would be logical.)

It's just that when i lived in Bristol I was a maiden trapped in a small room in the 7th floor of an ivory tower block, and my computer was my main connection to the outside world. Now the outside world is, well, just outside. I walk through my door and rather than finding a stinky, loud, smelly city full of torn bin bags, skantily clad drunk students, and crapping seagulls, I find a lovely garden full of sunflowers and sweatpeas and zinnias and corn and tomatoes. And if I go a little further than that there are other houses, with actual people in them. Meat people. And some of them are really nice. And we play board games and walk to the shops and keep each other company.

And there's the house itself, always with things to do, meals to cook, and laundry to fold. (Always with the fucking laundry. Jesus-H.-Christ-on-a-pogo-stick that man generates a lot of laundry.) And I find I just can't bring myself to sit in front of a computer for one milisecond than is longer than absolutely necessary. And not even that long. I've become abslutely crap at checking my email. It's driving my mother up the wall, but I figure that's fair revenge for being driven up the wall by her before the wedding.

So I'm still around, and I still love you all, I'm just unplugging for a while. I'll still be here intermittenly, so feel free to stop by. I like hearing from you. I just won't be a daily poster any more. Maybe at some point in the future I'll return to being a more regular writer, but in the meantime I think I'll stick to Big News. (I'm hoping that before next Christmas I'll have some Big News to share with you.)

There. That seems a good place to leave off. Always best to leave the readers hanging.