Everything i write nowadays is toolong and verywordy. I can’t seem to help myself; i’m just not as omnipresently connected as i used to be and the things i have been wanting to say just build and build until they are no longer simple phrases or paragraphs. Do you remember when this used to be snap reactions to hardwood floors, or fuzzy butterflies swirling in my stomach and the awkwardness that always ensues as a result? Hardwood floors have turned into brick walls and sloped ceilings, but that special breed of butterfly does emerge from a cocoon every so often to do a loop-to-loop just beneath my esophagus. I’m just left wondering if it’s my intent, my writing, or my editing that changed along the way. Obviously it would have to be a little bit of all three… but, what don’t i talk about now that you used to expect to hear from me? I’d really like to know.