The Amish have a word I can't remember the spelling of (or even close enough to Google it) that means "the condition of being unwilling to write letters." Not unable, just unwilling. As in, "How's John-Bob? I haven't heard a word from him since he moved to New Mexico." "Oh, he's fine! But he's got a horrible case of____"
Gee, I wish I could remember that word. It seems the closest word to what I've been fighting against while packing up my life, dragging myself across North America, and attempting to find a new groove to get into. I could have written. I had things to write about. I had a desire to communicate. But I didn't. Not in anything longer than G+ posts, anyhow. There were a lot of those.
At this point, it's hard to start writing for this blog again because so much has happened. A post covering it would be as long as a book and I have other books I'm supposed to be working on.
I also have a migraine sprouting since I started this because my son decided to argue with me about whether the Earth revolves around an axis, as his geography book clearly states, or around the Prime Meridian. We seriously had a ten minute argument about this.
But here's a picture of us on a happier Monday a fortnight ago that leads into yet another Person Not to Confuse With Andy: Anyone Who Doesn't Live in Baltimore! While you're at it, do not confuse me with A Non-Ravens Fan. The purple hair should be a tip-off.