I will never forget the time my ex-girlfriend, Carolyn, asked me, "How do you do it? How do think of something to write every day?" I had built her a computer, got her on the internet, and had made the mistake of letting her read this anonymous blog. "I can not, not do it," was my reply. Writing is part and parcel of who I am.
People think they know me from what I share on this journal. I have said often that you are getting little snapshots of my life. Little missives I care to share. I didn't write about staying up all night drinking diet coke, or the call at 11:50 PM from Rosa about her fears of being a bad grandmother and mother that was too intimate to share. Some things are best filed in the rainy day folder in the writing memory bank. I do probably share more than most, though.
I was so worried when I moved into this house, far removed from my usual haunts, that I wouldn't have anything to write about – the blog would just wither and die. No George and the gang. Little of Rosa as she can no longer just walk over. I couldn't write about my daily journeys and walks into downtown, or over to Rodger's Barbecue to eat lunch. I can't just go camping because I have to be hand-fed my medications every night. The exact opposite has happened. This move has forced me to be more introspective and creative with my writing – trying to make each little moment I share with you count and to be an enjoyable-to-read anecdote of my life. I hope you enjoy the next chapter in this journey and of my writing career as I share it upon the blog. And thanks for reading.