This is not the time to write, but...

I just want you to know: I'm not mad at you. Seriously. It's just that I haven't been writing. Don't we all get out of the habit?

It's not you. It's me.

Here's the thing. Next time you're wondering what the heck is up, do this for me: Pick up the phone. But don't do it for me. Do it for you.

Why? Because sometimes we forget that things happen to other people when we aren't looking.

In the silence, things have happened. Old grudges have subsided. Persistent neuroses have abated. CDs have been finished. Innumerable witty e-mails have been penned. (Just not to you--but it's not you, I promise. It's me.) Midlife crises have been resolved. Books have been finished. (Not mine.) Self-denigrating apologies have been ceased. New shoes have been procured. (Not mine originally, but mine now. Oh God. I have Prada. Something is rotten in Denmark.)

In short, a whole new unapologetic world has opened, and why?

I have absolutely no idea. Which is really the best idea of all.

Stay tuned. Something interesting may happen if you do.