52 Days Later...

And I still have nothing to say?  Right.  I've taken notes on so many "wise," "insightful," "inspired," thoughts and ideas.  They are all over the house - stuffed between book pages, tucked into drawers, and ferreted away among so many other treasures.  So many personal revelations - innumerable "occurrences," and yet here I sit.  With nothing to say.  And a million things screaming to be let out.  My Inner Breast Cancer Badass - the "Invisible Scholar" - seems to be sitting down on the job.  Or scared to death.  One or the other.  But then, what other option is there?  Plenty.  Just not many I am *capable* of executing.  That is a much more positive statement then it appears.  What is it they say about talking to yourself?  As long as you don't reply?...