I've been an inconsistent writer, an inconsistent friend, and even at times an inconsistent wife.  ironically, it's in my darkest moments that I believe I write my best work.... it has always been that way.  I've been married for nearly 5 years, and with my husband for nearly 7, and for several years, until fairly recently, the drive to write has come and gone.  truthfully, mostly it has gone.  I was too happy to write with any real impact, if that makes sense.  I'm not much into writing "happy poetry."

so here I am rambling mostly to strangers, except one dear old friend on here, but I need someplace to unload my angst, and where better than with others who do much the same.  I hope you will not roll your eyes and go "who the hell is this woman anyways, and why is she rambling at us about her life?" but instead will listen and bear with me while I bare my life and my soul.  I am currently stitching my heart on my sleeve.

from what I can see this is a wonderful community, and despite my sometimes lengthy absences, when I feel that I want to connect, this is where I come, even when I am here in silence.

best regards to you all
Godweed (aka Virginia)