Self-imposed blockage

Sometimes blog posts are kind of like sneezes: I can feel them coming on, and when they have to happen, out they come. On the other hand, because I compose a post almost entirely in my head before typing, I spend a lot of time with a particular post, sometimes a few days if it's going to be a particularly self-gazing-at-navel one. So I'm grateful both to Foster Mom and my recent trip to Chicago to taking some pressure off. I've got a big 'un brewing, and it's been tough to think about, much less write about, so I've been holding breath, forcing myself not to sneeze. Crazy, I know, because supposedly this blogging gig is voluntary, but I also know this has to happen so that I can Move On With Purpose and Hopefulness. In the meantime, go read Tom Rachman's The Imperfectionists, because it's a terrific summer read. I'll be back shortly, with what I hope is one last maudlin bit of treacle so we can all get on with our lives (oh, not to worry, I'll still be right here forever; we have a lot of going forty left to do, much of which I'm sure will be completely embarrassing to me, and therefore wildly entertaining to you).