rotting fruit, or something to that effect

It has been entirely too long since I've posted anything on here. I have so many great ideas for posts, but somehow they never come to fruition. I wanted to write about Atonement by Ian McEwan and how it describes me in so many ways I was almost disturbed. I have a lot to say about the characters I met while on jury duty. I want to put together some kind of stream-of-consciousness for my next potential novel. Independence, dependence and disappointment are on my list of abstract concepts to disect. I had a thought tonight about how lucky I am to have my life figured out, for the most part, and how satisfying it is to have a passion.
But these are all the best intentions. Too often, I have these great plans and aspirations, but they end up in a pile of disappointing muck that I imagine would smell like rotting fruit. They're always so tantilizingly sweet before I leave them sitting out a couple days too long, and then it's just plain too late.
I've missed writing. Even if this post doesn't really accomplish anything, I feel so much better just to be putting nouns and verbs and adjectives together into something I like. Somehow, I can't even describe it, but if you love to write like I love to write, you understand.