I thought you were dead.

But you're not. You've just gone underground. A bit. When I read the part about no comments and no numbers, it felt like a new Dogme 95. Blogging in its purest form. And I thought that was beautiful. And inspired. Well, it inspired me anyway. Not that I'm going to jettison my comments. Or my statcounter. Or any of my silly baggage.

But I'm glad you're still there. When you hit your stride, dancing in the street like that, you are one of the loveliest voices I have ever heard. You with your keys and your cats and your Russian place. (Did you have the borscht? Was it the place with a black and white floor and big glass cases?)

I thought I'd roll you onto my list of ones to watch. And then I thought, naaah, this is private stuff. I'm not even sure I'm supposed to see it. But when you are so true- so faithfully human- how can I look away? C.S. Lewis said one of my favorite things ever- "We read to know we are not alone." Maybe you write for the same reason.

You do your thing. I love how not-neat it all is. And I'm glad you're there. So glad.

I'm not the only one who can't really keep it all together.