Confession is good for the soul and for conversation

Hello, dear readers and let me begin with a heartfelt apology for my lack of posts.  It would be so easy to tell you that I've been on a whirl-wind adventure or stricken with some horrible affliction that prohibits me from writing.

The truth is that what has prevented me from writing is a sheer lack of desire.  As I've sat around trying to formulate the start of a post, I would be paralyzed by the idea that off the top of my head I had nothing in common with Simone.  The panic could only be alleviated by research and, honestly, the last thing I wanted to do was read something philosophical.  I've been doing a lot of scholarly reading lately and wanted a change.

My semester break reading list includes light-hearted, you-know-how-it-will-end, fun books.  Yes, some have smutty sections.  I will state loud and proud that not only do I enjoy "bodice-rippers"--I also have a select view in my library and they are inscribed, too--but one day I hope to write one. 

There.  I've said it. 

Back to Simone and Me. 

Then it hit me.  A commonality.

Simone and Sartre and their intellectual peers would sit around for hours and talk.  About what exactly I don't know, because I've been working on my "Semester Break Reading List" and making serious headway.

The point is that Simone and her peeps were found talking, socializing, and smoking in public places.  Surely the size of the gathering would grow as other friends stopped by to share their thoughts.

I went to the local Wal-Mart recently to grab a few things and spotted some great folks who I hadn't seen in a while.  In fact the last time we visited was in Wal-Mart.  Marge and I chatted about everything from what's been going on lately in our respective lives--she was quick to point out that I hadn't posted anything here--to what we'd be doing in the near future. 

No, we didn't get involved in serious, philosophical discussions.  Nor did we smoke (it's prohibited and not a habit of either conversationalist).  We stood, shared, and enjoyed our conversation.

Marge's husband joined in and the discussion flowed to his passion, fishing.  I have been three times, so I couldn't relate much, if at all, to his stories, but enjoyed them none the less.

My point? 

I don't know.  You see, I started this post months ago.  I had forgotten about it until I found it whatever it is that Blogger.com calls the place where my posts, both published and saved, are stored. 

As I re-read it, I changed "Summer Break Reading List" to "Semester Break Reading List" along with a few other editorial corrections.  I thought I could use this saved draft as my latest blog.  I can't because I haven't a clue as to where I was going with it.

Now, I have chosen to post it and publish it for all to see.  I started it with a confession and will end it similarly. 

I'm fairly certainly Simone is rolling in her grave, shocked at my audacity to 're-blog'. 

Hopefully, she's also grateful that I've given her something new to discuss with Sartre, et. al.  where ever they are.