In this update-saturated age, disappear from anywhere online long enough, and you're bound to have one of two things happen: one, the time you've spent away will weave a Pynchonesque cape of mystique around your absent authorial self, which will inspire whisperings about what epic project you must undoubtedly be crafting behind closed doors. Or two, and this is the part where I wake up, you, well, just disappear. Fall off the radar. Go running off the RSS-feed ledge and don't even know it until, like Wile E. Coyote, you look down and notice that yawning chasm that's opened up at your feet. That's what I get for not blogging for two months. A bad Road Runner metaphor and a peeling sign in Venice that makes the excuses for me.
See, I'm a creature of habit. Take away the number-a-day structure and what do I find? About ninety hours of scrolling through iPhoto, chortling to myself and saying, "Ah now, there's a lovely one. If only I had 364 more mildly amusing No Parking signs from various spots around the globe, I might be onto something."
I enjoy structure. Really, it's a great thing. I can't imagine life without calendar boxes, page-a-day planners, sturdy apartment buildings, blueprints, wine. (Give me a menu that describes a wine as having "a great structure" and I'll order it no matter what other silly adjectives are used to describe it.) I also enjoy counting, especially as I've turned out a failure in all other aspects of math, and having pictures to go along with the tasks delights the two halves of my brain, which usually wouldn't be caught dead conversing with one another. So yeah, the numbers are gonna make a comeback. Not right away. But they will be back.
In the meantime, I'm getting closer to wrapping up a hefty offline writing project (this will no doubt sound familiar) and as I approach the next of the penultimately almost-last final drafts of that, I'm going to be digging back through the pretty picture archive for some yummy typographical treats. Don't say I didn't warn you.
It might be a little more right-brained and scattered here for awhile. Which is really my way of saying I don't know what I'm doing or the order I'm doing it in. But do know I'm glad to be doing it. After a long time away, one thing's clear: here is better than not-here.