The Wikipedia definition of becoming a ghost or “ghosting” is:

When a person cuts off all communication with their friends or the person they’re dating, with zero warning or notice before hand. You’ll mostly see them avoiding friend’s phone calls, social media, and avoiding them in public. The act of suddenly ceasing all communication with someone the subject is dating, but no longer wishes to date.

I’m sorry I didn’t call. Or text.

It’s not that i want to stop dating. Or that i don’t like you.

i really do like you. As a friend. A really really good friend. A drunk-texting/tell-me-i-look-good-in-my-“fat-pants”/call-me-when-you-get-home-so-i-don’t-worry-you-got-ax-murdered, kind of friend.

And it’s not that i don’t have anything to talk about.

If you’ve read anything at all on my blog you know that my life is … well …COLORFUL, to say the least. Eventful. Maybe a little dangerous and ouchy at times, but definitely not boring.

It’s just that my life is also..LIFE. With all of its ups and downs and train wrecks and ferris wheel rides. (Unless the concept of a train wreck is more appealing to you than betting your life on a ride on a freaking giant WHEEL that is taken apart and put together 52 times a year and operated by a meth head that dates 16 year olds and hasn’t slept in a week.)

Give me the train wreck any day.

Except it never involves real trains, does it?

In fact, it sometimes doesn’t involve anything at all on the outside. Or it does, but the part that gets broken or banged up or just a little out of whack is on the INSIDE. And when the call is coming from INSIDE THE HOUSE…sometimes it takes a while to figure out if you’re the stupid screaming underpaid chick who dies first, or the savvy smart lead character who grabs a crowbar and wears running shoes and GETS. THE. EFF. OUTTA. THERE.

i choose to be the savvy chick with the metaphoric running shoes (because i technically haven’t RAN since 1995). But i can do a mean speed walk (when chased) in my SASS loafers.

Here’s the deal: everything i write about is 100% true. Or at least it is 100% my perception of what is true. Crazy things do happen to and around me, and i find it all hilariously funny. And i love to write and tell stories, and that is what this blog is all about.

But every once in a while, i get an overwhelming “imposter syndrome” wave washing over me and i wonder – how can i write all this happy funny stuff when life isn’t always happy funny? Who am i to think i am funny anyway? Who really cares?

And i spend some time wallowing in self-doubt and gluten free oreo-ish cookies and i think i’ll never write again.

And then a million and one absolutely unbelievably ridiculous things happen to me and i start laughing again, put on my big girl panties and start hitting the keyboard again.

So….i’m sorry i ghosted on you.

i really was here the whole time and i really do love each and every one of you readers.

i hope you will forgive me.

And although i can’t promise to never disappear into a fog of uncertainty (and cookies!) again, i will promise to try to make the pity party a little shorter and to always come back. Because Happy Catastrophy is one of the greatest and most exciting outlets for me and a huge part of my big fat happy life.

Stick around for upcoming stories about chupacabra poop, bats in the bathroom, widow-maker trees and more!

(A LOT happens when you are a catastrophe-magnet living in a log cabin in the woods.)

i can’t wait to tell you all about it.