I Will Survive

I haven’t bothered to write in a while. I attempted a few “fresh start” blogs but quickly gave up on them. The Bemused Muse was my identity (and already had a top-ranking place in Google for some asinine reason.)

I’m returning but I won’t promise sunshine and roses. I will be as politically and religiously unsympathetic as ever but I do promise to pepper those posts with scientific discoveries, introspection and the occasional “this was my day” entries. I don’t know if I will continue Sunday Scribblings (it became too much of a clique) and I don’t think I’ll participate in any photography boards.

My blogger name has returned (in part). I am fond of it. It is my inner being, a creature that seems to detach itself in order to find a glimmer of something (anything – hope, beauty or amusement) in the mundane aspects of daily living. Perhaps I have finally gone wonkers and suffer from a split personality (how sad, considering that Autrice never leaves a Christmas prezzie under the tree for me.)

I have had a few hard, bitter years as evident by how my post frequency and subject matter tapered off. I feel like a grizzled veteran crawling out of a shit- and gore-filled fox hole. The bullets still fly but really, darlings, I don’t give a damn anymore.


I’ll address the family, colleague and relationships farcicality once and only once and then, darlings, I’ll never address it again. It is with every last bit of inescapable antipathy, I say this:

Thank you for being what you are. It makes me appreciate the good people in this world. In the words of Gloria Gaynor (minus the hot pants and roller skates), “I will survive”.

Isn’t she adorable?

I do have some wonderful aunts, uncles and cousins that are exempt from the above statement. Better Half’s family is complete exempt, of course, as are my lovely parents.