It isn't because I gave up on blogging; it is because I gave up writing. There are probably two things that are mostly responsible, and both of them are people, but there are a lot of other things involved. A few years ago I started doing things, one at a time, that I thought might make my life better, or at the least, were the kinds of things that, collectively, looked a lot like becoming a grown-up. Surprisingly, all of these things seemed to have colluded to make the world a little less difficult to understand, and as such I don't have to resort to writing as a way of organizing my thoughts in a futile effort to comprehend why life boils down to and endless procession of the awkward and aggravating.
Instead of being stirred to create I am mostly just lulled into the apathy of contentment; I am happy therefore I am. It is new to me, or at least, it has been so long forgotten that it seems new. I am not comfortable with the trade, and I feel confident that the desire to express myself will return, but I am hopeful that I will be able to find a balance that allows for both. For now, though, I am comfortable waiting it out.