Bet you thought you'd seen the last of me.

Yes, that is a threat.

I don’t know where to begin, so I guess that’s as good a place as any to start.

Hi. It’s been a long time.

I’m scared to write to you again. It feels too vulnerable, like parting my shirt to show you the bleeding open wound on my chest. My voice—whatever that is—feels unnatural, hoarse.

It’s not the hoarseness of under-use, but rather the hoarseness of a lifetime spent chain smoking. Exhaling ash.

(Is it okay to be impressed by that line? I mean, wow. How do I even follow that?)

What have I been up to, all this time? (Why am I asking so many rhetorical questions?)

Not writing, mostly. Not sleeping, and so not dreaming. Not moving in the direction I want to go.

But that’s what the New Year is for.

I know, I know. What a cheesy way to reintroduce this newsletter. Everyone has a resolution; very few of us keep it. Everyone wants to change their life. And then around week 2, the shine on the new routine rubs off a bit. The old stresses and sadnesses creep back in. Changing your life doesn’t seem so glamorous, after all, and it’s so easy to just give up.

But haven’t I already changed my life?

Just by writing a few words, just by pressing send?

I don’t know what Ad Astra will become this year, or if I’ll even keep the name. I don’t know what my goal is in writing it again. I don’t know why I feel I have anything noteworthy to say.

All I know is I’ve wanted to say something—anything—for a long time.

I want to speak through that bleeding open wound I mentioned earlier, warbled and grotesque as the words may sound, ashamed as I may be to reveal it…and see.

If the air will be good for it. If the bleeding will scab over. If the scar will be interesting.

My New Year's resolutions. (Mostly) courtesy of Tumblr, because I am above all...a Tumblrina.