Big B, little b, what begins with b?

I've been having vague notions of giving up writing here. Maybe because this blog (with a small b and I can hardly type this word) has fulfilled its purpose. It was useful for venting, raving, keeping track. For a while.

But now what? It's become a bit of a gnat for me. I try to shoo it away or swat it or catch it with a dustbuster--the same way I have been trying to catch houseflies. For the record, I have caught two flies this way. They were at the window screen and unsuspecting. Catching flies midair with a dustbuster is a different kind of occupational feat. Or hazard. Or sideshow (ask the kids).

I like writing. Or, more accurately, I like writing in the way that a lot of people who write love and hate it. But do I like writing here? Anymore?

This is a question that I am trying to answer. I probably won't make a decision one way or the other. I'll probably let go for months-or even a year--and then I'll be back. Like visiting an old friend. And it will feel like time hasn't passed. The blog and I will embrace and kiss on each cheek as people in Quebec City do--and we will go on as before--plodding, plotting. Always plotting. Always plodding. Because that's what people (and web logs) do.