I have to make a point to do this now. I used to write every day without fail. Whether for school or for leisure, I didn't realize I was cultivating a skill that would erode without maintenance.

But that's what happened. I thought I'd write for a living; instead, I started a career in television. There is writing, but it's not writing. I got married, had a baby, bought a house and all of the sudden more than 2 and a half years went by. Without writing.

And you know what I realized? I stink at writing now. It shouldn't be a surprise, but I admit to being a little taken aback when it finally hit me. I was writing an e-mail to a friend, and as I re-read what I had put down, I found it made almost zero sense grammatically, as I'm sure you're realizing as you read what's above. Not only did it make no sense grammatically, it lacked flow, personality - it was like a robot was typing out my life. Things are good. Working a lot. How's the weather? Terrible. Just terrible.

And a little sad. I mean, writing was a part of my life, a part of me. And I want to get it back. That's where you come in, loyal reader. I need to bore you with my everyday thoughts, encounters, and stories. I am indebted to you, for your time, and especially for your patience. Was that a comma splice? Thus begins the long road home.