Failing Toward 40: The Conclusion of the Rhapsody Failure Memoirs (Part III)

Good morning, kittens, and welcome to what people of good taste can only hope is the final installment of the Rhapsody Failure Memoirs. It seemed an auspicious day for it because it happens to be—I shit you not—my 40th birthday.

But first… I want to speak about something rather delicate, my friends.

Can we bring the house lights up for a second? (Not that bright. Thank you.)

Before I begin, I thought you might like an explanation as to why I went away for six months, leaving no note about where I was going, or when I’d return? Or maybe you don’t, and that’s fine. As I’ve said before, blog abandonment is hard to talk about, but we must, since nearly every American woman I know has a blog that she is actively Not Writing.

Look, the point is that there were some serious matters of life and loss going on in the House of Rhapsody, and that’s why I accidentally-on-purpose went out for another bottle of chardonnay and forgot to come back. I know that while I was out, you’ve all waited faithfully for me, doing nothing else, just draped like a bunch of Victorian consumptives across your chaise lounges, hysterical with concern.

That’s so sweet of you. But now, your worry is over. Rhapsody is back, and this New Zealand savvie I’ve just opened is as crisp as the summer morn.

Also, to be honest, a trusted friend told me I need “a more robust on-line platform” from which to launch other projects into orbit. That’s why there’s a big pile of fiberglass and bolts in the corner over there. After today’s post, you can all help me get the high dive installed and test it out for bounciness.

Now then: let’s pull on our flowered bathing caps and begin, shall we? It’s so good to be back.

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