I would say that it is with great sadness that I put this blog on ice for an indeterminate period, but that wouldn’t be true. I act more out of existential confusion when I shrink-wrap whatever leftovers of an uncelebrated holiday meal linger on this set table. I slide them onto a cloudy fridge shelf to preserve for a future in which I am again hungry or, at the very least, for a time when I might entertain hungry guests. Until then, whatever writings I’ve posted will season alone in unlabeled obscurity. I haven’t burned any works, though I’ve removed most of the fare from the menu—if I’m going to continue exhausting this crap metaphor. Those interested (or any who’ve even noticed my absence) can still contact me via this site or at firstname.lastname@example.org. I occasionally collect my mail.
Nothing is forever. That said, I am no fortune teller.
—N. I. McCarthy