When I was young and kept a diary–haphazardly–I felt compelled to explain my long absences to my readers. Not that my diary had any actual readers, other than my mom and siblings. And I’m even sure about them.
Yet, filled with youthful delusions of my future grandeur, I felt that I was writing for posterity, and I would explain my lack of daily diary entries with either a detailed play-by-play or with shame-filled apologies.
You’ll get neither. But I’m back. And all the stories will tell themselves.