Perpetual Stillness Machine

The first rule of the Internet Hiatus is: You do not talk about your Internet Hiatus. Definitely not during your Internet Hiatus.

I've been offline, more or less, since mid-November. I didn't announce that I was going offline, I just went. The end.

I did not feather my hiatus nest with a hashtag, inviting others to join in so we could all share tips online about how great we're doing staying offline. A hiatus is healthy, you should take one, too, and frequently, but it sort of messes up my hiatus when I'm busy monitoring questions about yours.

Or checking your social media updates on how your Internet Hiatus is going.

You are doing your Internet Hiatus wrong, by the way.

(I'm kidding. Do whatever you want. I'm not even watching. See aforementioned: Internet Hiatus.)

The view from my studio window as I write.

Nearly two months was enough, though. Time to resume my erratic publishing schedule and haphazard social media updates. Thanks to my consistently inconsistent approach to online availability, I doubt you even noticed I was gone.

I love you for that.

As of this month, I have been blogging for seven years. I think I spent most of last year saying I had been blogging for seven years, but I wasn't paying attention. (notice a theme here?) It's official this time. I started Velveteen Mind in January 2007, right here at Typepad. That threadbare book in my header, from my very first design.

If you've learned nothing else about me, I imagine it is that I am stubborn. I like to think of it as "loyal."

It definitely means I don't quit. I may shift into a lower gear, but I don't quit.

Over the last seven years, we've developed a rhythm, you and I. We've figured out what works and what doesn't. Me explaining why I'm gone for long stretches and making apologetic excuses? Doesn't work. You feeling obliged to weigh in on every post with a "Love!" or "This!" or "This is not my favorite post of yours but I'm still here..."? Isn't necessary.

We are low maintenance. I like that about us. It takes trust to be low maintenance.

We wrap ourselves in these threadbare covers and we nestle in for the long haul. We don't need to be flashy. We don't have to be controversial. We aren't fast and we aren't loud.

We are clear. We are sure. We are full of daydreams and furrowed brows.

We have some things to talk about soon. This post is me running my hand across your back as I walk by you in our shared space, trailing my fingers lightly from one shoulder blade to the next.

As you were.