Sorry for my absence. I’ve been out of my mind.

Hello, awesome readers!

Oh how I’ve missed you!

I know you’ve been busy and I’m certain that you’ve probably forgotten all about me. Kudos to you for having a life! But as anyone who knows me knows, writing is my therapy. And while it may LOOK like I haven’t been doing much of it here, let me tell you that I’ve been doing a lot of writing behind the scenes these last few weeks. Pages and pages of words have been falling like a waterfall out of every pore of my brain. That is, assuming that my brain even has pores.

Note to self: Look up the anatomy of a brain later. But do it during the day just in case your search returns graphic pictures that could potentially turn into the stuff of brain-eating zombie nightmares. Or something.

So why have I been focusing on my writing therapy, you ask?

Ah great question, awesome readers!

And I have an equally great answer; one that I can’t wait to tell you about. Except that I am waiting. I’m bantering like a person who has been living under a rock and suddenly has someone to talk to.

How annoying is THAT? (For you, dear readers, not me. I could banter on until the cows come home. As an aside, that’s a long time. Considering I don’t even have cows.)

Back to answering your question: Why have I been focusing on my writing therapy?

Before I answer that let’s go back a few months. For a while there, I couldn’t write anything and it scared the hell out of me. (If you missed the post about my epileptic seizure-induced concussion, you can read about it here.)

It was during this time that writing seemed like it would never be a part of my life again.

But wait, you say. What about those posts you wrote after your seizure so graciously broke your nose?

Well here’s the thing. As a rule I spend most of my time … well, writing. And sometimes I end up filing away the stuff that I write for this blog because I don’t think it’s good enough or funny enough or interesting enough. So while my brain was busy being broken and unable to function in its “normal” capacity, I was happy to revisit some of the unposted pieces that I keep in a file called “Crap” on my computer. That’s correct. I keep the crap I write under a file called crap. As simplistic as this sounds, it works for me. Especially during times of duress. Like the many weeks and months after my seizure, as I waited (and waited) for the “on” switch in my brain to engage.

And then something happened. I was at my neurologist’s office for yet another follow-up visit when she told me about one of her other patients. According to my neurologist, this patient is just like me in that she too is suffering from a concussion caused by a seizure. Only this patient isn’t exactly like me because she’s been struggling with her concussion for over a year. Upon hearing this, my brain suddenly went into panic mode.

In case you don’t know what a brain in panic mode sounds like, it goes something like this:

“WHAT?!!! THERE’S NO FREAKING WAY THAT I’M GOING TO LIVE LIKE THIS FOR ANOTHER YEAR.”

That’s when my mind and body went into hyper-heal-thyself mode.

Suddenly, I was scrambling to do all the things that my broken self knew that my unbroken self used to do. This included reading, even though I could only concentrate for a few minutes at a time. (That’s correct. I was timing myself because I needed to measure my progress.)

Also, I was spending several minutes a day trying to teach myself to play the guitar. Apparently learning a new language is a great workout for your brain. And what better language to learn than the beautiful language of music? Admittedly, this went well for about three days, when I realized that every day I had to relearn what I had learned the day before, which only added to my frustration.

Eventually I put down the guitar and opted to spend many hours every day playing mind games at Lumosity.com. This proved successful because I actually did see some improvements in my memory and concentration.

(Dear Lumosity.com, I could totally be a sponsor for your site. Call me?)

And that’s not all. I also had to exercise my morale. And I did that by joining a gym and getting back into working out. On a mission to find the unbroken me under the broken me, I started training like a banshee. (For the record, I have no idea what a banshee is. Neither does spell check so now I’m wondering if it’s even a word. Regardless, I like the way it sounds. Saying that I’ve been “training like a banshee” makes me sound athletic. Except spell check keeps trying to make me sound musical by replacing the word banshee with banjo. And that’s just ridiculous because everyone knows that banjos aren’t the type to exercise.)

All that to say that I’M BACK, awesome readers! My brain is back. My life is back. All is well again in the world. Oh and that’s not all!

Do you remember the book I was working on before all of this epileptic seizure nonsense started? Well I’m back on that too. AND I’m very close to hooking up with a literary agent; one who shares my vision for the book.

How close, you ask? “This close!!!”

I need to borrow your imagination for a second, dear readers. Please imagine me holding up my hand with my thumb and that other finger, the one I don’t know the name to, about half an inch apart.

THAT CLOSE.

Stay tuned …

Update: I just looked up the word “banshee”. It appears banjo IS a better fit after all. After all the crap I’ve been through these last several months, there will be no banshees. None.

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