It turns out traveling every day leaves our routine a bit discombobulated, which in turn leaves my ability to write coherently a little... off. This is, of course, a factor derived as much from an unbalanced life as an unfocused mind. My eagerness to return to writing is hampered by a fear of not doing it very well, which is as silly a reason not to write as it appears to be. I find myself infinitely capable of silly things, though. The lack of routine is a convenient, if truthful, excuse.
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