Would That I Might

Earlier this evening I had the opportunity to attend an online writer's meetup through the Manuscript Academy.  I've mentioned them before on this blog, though it has been some time.  It is an online program that is designed to provide writer's with various resources of the sorts found at conferences.  In particular, they attempt to help with connecting writers and agents, but they have also been developing more opportunities for writers to interact directly.  Tonight was a fairly relaxed and was mostly just a meet and greet, but there was a fair amount of interest amongst the fiction writers that I was talking with in possibly developing an online critique group.  I have never been in such a group before, at least not anything that wasn't part of a formal program or workshop.  In the past, I've always been a bit shy about joining.  In part, this is born of a fear that my work is just too weird, though I know that is probably just an excuse, not that I can identify

The Ghost of Old Mistakes It creeps, grey smooth, the almost air, the darkening, the shadow off a wall and letting it inside was never wise, letting it begin meant too much, was not a bargain that could be closed. It was always more, was rising, and now it is going on even when it is not there, is always in the clouds, is the cloud that comes and there isn't rain, not now.  It is dark but there is nothing as refreshing as the rain.

I feel that a lot of my writing, particularly my poetry, has been limited lately because of my mental and emotional state.  I've been pretty down for a long while, and that doesn't seem to be anything that is about to change, and one of the things this impacts is the kinds of poems I am writing.  I wish I could find some more positive emotions to build on but most of what I am writing is just a reflection of various feelings and the thoughts that are built around those emotions, and all of that is pretty bad as topics for poetry.  I know that no one wants angsty, depressed poetry, and I hope that I am steering clear of that, but I do worry.  At times, I would imagine, I must just sink into it, and maybe that is neccessary?  I don't know.  I hope, at the very least, that some of it has value.  If I am going to be stuck in this, at least I can hope to get something meaningful from it.

After The Violet Selections We ask her what it was because she was there and experienced it all and she cannot explain it or tell us what it was in any way other than what was already clear, cannot offer any details, says she can't think of them, that it was not at all clear, and I don't think it was good, the way she can't recall it or make any sense of things, I think that means  it was not very good but she says  it was, though I suspect she means how it was done. It might have been done well even if what they did was nothing of value. Even a thing without value can be done with care. I think that is what happened, I think they wasted the effort to care for a thing that was not worth the effort, but I was not there and I am cruel enough to want it to be wrong, to want it to have been bad because it was nothing to me. I should be different, should be open. Maybe her confusion does not mean what I believe. I should trust the possibilities, but I am hurting and it is easies

Tonight my writing seemed to just flow without much hesitation.  I did spend a bit of time at the computer before I started my work, but once I got started, I was off.  That has not always been the case lately, more often in terms of the prose that I am working on, but at times with the poetry as well.  I suppose it must be fairly minor, as it never stops me, but I still enjoy when it seems to really be coming without much effort, even though I don't think it necessarily is reflective of the works quality in most cases.

They Will Allow Orchids  but never daisies  or tulips or daffodils or bougainvilleas, no, just the orchids. The rest they will dismiss, will call a danger, will refuse.  It is  not at all clear the difference. There is a bias at work, or maybe  I do not understand. I don't need to know all the reasons. It is not important, I only need to know what can be done and what cannot be, what will be allowed and what won't. I do not even need that, not in truth.  I don't have any flowers at all and wouldn't bring them even if I was going. 

I sometimes find it difficult lately  to write about certain topics.  I am not even that sure what connects them, though it is often material that feels very heated for me, and I think that a lot of the difficult I have is a result of that intensity, and, I suspect, fear.  I think that I am often afraid that I might not be able to explain my idea in a way that will be persuasive, or that I will be misjudged for them.  Generally, this type of fear doesn't actually stop me from trying to write about things, but what happens is that the ideas I wanted to express become convoluted or lost as I get bogged down in describing the context and not the actual ideas.  Often, I begin thinking that it will be easy to just say the thing in a clear and succinct manner, but, as I begin to write, it spins away from me.

You Insisted but claim it was nothing, did not matter. I was silly to object, but you insisted because it was nothing and did not matter and was unimportant, you insisted on doing it even knowing the harm it would do, but you claim I should have said fine because it was nothing. You say it even now, even after you did it and know the outcome, know that you were wrong. My fears were correct.

I have been taking some time to do more research on vampires, but I have to wonder just how much more I really need to include in the piece I have been writing.  I mean, I am already at a point where it is probably long enough to be a book, especially if I edit it and add in the supporting materials that I think are going to be necessary.  Even so, I am still finding more that feels relevant.  I certainly think it might be good to do some more direct dives into specific pieces of media, even at this point, but I wonder if that work might not be supplementary and not required in this specific piece.  I feel like the problem with doing those kinds of things in this piece is determining what to include and what is not needed.  There is just so much material that is relevant, I certainly don't have time to sample all of it, let alone to write about everything.

All The Luck Is Gone to The Bad Side and the color of it, or is that the lighting, shadows are heavier over there, the darkness is greater in that direction.  Here is not the same, but, oh well, it can't be helped now, it is already done.  Predictions did not warn  about these possibilities, the outcome was expected to be better, but that is no guarantee. It might come to be another way, maybe tomorrow or some day beyond, it might be.  The sun is hidden by the clouds but only because we are standing behind them..

I have been writing this new novel for a bit now and it is still going extremely slowly.  Part of that is just me being distracted and busy and a bit lazy at times.  I don't have a real quota for how much I write, just that I have to work on it each day, and that can sometimes mean that I only write a sentence or two.  At other times, I do write more, but I think that I need to set aside a bit of extra time to work on it and try to get on track.  I've got a better sense of it then when I started, but that is also throwing me a bit since it is not quite what I had imagined initially, with the story starting out in a very different way than I had expected.  I trust the work I have done, but I feel the need to push myself to do more.

It Is Not Enough not yet.  It needs to be so much more than this, enough that it will matter, that it will bring the needed change. Most of what is done will be nothing, we know that, we can predict that it will be that way. The odds are clear, even a single win requires many losses. We must do enough that the wins matter, that it is not just one, maybe another soon, but never more than this. It must be done so it can accumulate. That is the point. If it cannot be done in a way that works, a way that brings  the needed change, if not that it is best not to do it, not to even try.

I am feeling tired and drained and am not really in the mood to be doing this entry right now.  I didn't really feel like doing much of my writing tonight, but I am here and I did it anyway and I am glad that I didn't let myself skip it, as I always am afterwards.  That doesn't mean that it was easy or that I am not worn out from it, but I suppose the reason I didn't want to do the work in first place was that I felt pretty exhausted already, and if I am going to feel this way I would rather have earned part of that exhaustion by doing my writing.

You Say You Do Not Like When I Am Hurting You tell me you don't want that, but I don't believe you, not now.  You have done too much that was cruel, too much that you knew would deal me harm. You pretend it is not that way, but you ignored my pain, ignored what was said. Even now you will defend it and say I was wrong to even have the need. You did it knowing it would do harm. Someone who cared would not have done it. You only say it is fine  and I am wrong to be in pain.

I don't want to get into the specifics, but I am feeling rather anxious tonight.  Tomorrow is going to be a busy day, and I expect it to be somewhat difficult.  I have to have a serious, important conversation with someone I care about, and I am hopeful that it will be good for us, that it might help to heal our relationship, but I know that it is going to be hard and will take a lot of work.  Tomorrow is just a step, of course, and I am glad to be taking it, even though it is likely to be fraught.  I am scared, of course, but I am more frightened of things continuing on without the problems being addressed.

It Is Not for Now It is a good thing, will be a good thing, is too good a thing, maybe, is certainly not the thing, not the thing needed now, but maybe later.  It is too good for right now, is not needed for this, is too much, is a waste.  It is better to be prudent.  Save it, hold it close and wait. Not forever, but tonight is not the time.  But be sure you do not wait too long. It will not last forever. It must be understood and recognized and honored. It is no good just to rush forward simply because you need a thing and this is one. Wasting it will be regretted, whether by acting in haste or not acting at all.

As part of researching vampires, I began watching the Buffy TV series.  It was on when I was in college, but I never got into it despite having numerous friends who were.  After watching the first episode, I have some questions I want to research, largely to do with the design of the vampires.  I couldn't help but notice the very sharp, bony ridges that they seemed to give the creatures, details that made me think of lizards and other reptiles.  It may well be that I am just seeing that when no one else would, but I do wonder if there are any interviews discussing the specifics of the thought process for those elements.  I think that what really made me notice this aspect was the fact that the vampires are shape-shifters, as well.  The first vampire depicted is a normal woman one moment and then has a monster face the next and I can't help but notice that it feels a bit similar to the idea of reptilians that is put forward by certain anti-Semitic conspiracy theorists.  I am pro

Still Hesitating I am exploring it now, after all this time, and what I notice is strange, is not what would be expected, though it seems sensible, to me it does.  I wonder if it is only my mind making the pattern or if there is an intent, even if not the one I would name, but something that makes it this way, that lines it up. Maybe you notice it too. If it is not only me, if it is clear to you, then I will trust myself.

I had taken a short break from work on my piece about vampires.  I've been writing it for a long while now, and there are times when it can be hard to keep my concentration, so I let myself take little breaks from it, so long as I work on something else that is also in the non-fiction sphere.  Tonight, I returned to writing about vampires, and I realize that it does make me feel good to get back to it.  I don't know exactly what that is, though I suspect it may be that I recognized that much of what I have written feels significant to me, and the work itself feels important.  I don't know if I can get it published, really, but I suspect it may be time to start thinking about that, even as I continue working on it.  From what I know, it is far easier to do that with non-fiction.

There Were Promises Made and not inert ones, as a form of influence, as persuasion. Decisions were changed, life was planned. It was how things came to be this way, and it may have been foolish, trusting you, all of that.  It is what is said, though it is said too late, is said after, when I am twenty years older, not when I was new with wonder and belief and had not been in the unfiltered world. But it is too late to learn that lesson in time, and things are how they are now and another path cannot be walked instead. It is what Frost said about "the difference." It was long ago, by now, and here I am, and I don't know what I should do. I can't take a different path but this one, I followed it to reach a destination where it does not seem to go, and those who pointed me are no longer around to offer guidance. I am not certain what I must do, but it is dark and gets darker and, still, I cannot turn back.

I am going to warn you that this entry is just me making sure I do the work I am supposed to, even if it is just the bare minimum.  Some nights, that is all that I can muster, and that, in the case of this blog, is making certain that I write something even if it is only a few sentences.  I hope that I can find a way to turn things around soon because it has been going the other direction for too long and it has felt overwhelming for some time.  It has felt like too much for a while, but I am afraid that, at some point, it really will be.

They Won't Dance for The Monkey King though he has begged them to come, has offered everything, they still refuse.  The monkey king is not their favorite person, is not who they dance for, even if he is the king. They are not monkeys, of course, but even if they were they would not dance for him, though he might think they would, or even that they must if he asks. He is still a monkey, even if he is a king, it is still certain he is a monkey.

I have been struggling for a long while and I am not certain how to change that, but I know that I am at a point where it is overwhelming me and needs to change.  I can say that, but I can't figure out what to do about it.  I feel like the only options I have are to continue with things the way that they are or just give up and sink into that misery, and I know that neither of those is a good option, but nothing else exists for me.  I am stuck and it scares me.  I don't know what else to say about it, and when I ask for help, I am just told to accept that this is the way it is, and that is basically like being told to just keep drowning but pretend it is fine.  

What Am I Waiting for? Do not ask me for patience or tell me that it will come one day, not unless you can show evidence. I will wait, will be clam and stay quiet if I am certain it is not just waiting and hoping.  I need to know it is not just being told to wait again. I have waited for a long time already.  Waiting is fine, but I do not believe I am actually waiting. I think there is nothing. I am being told I am waiting so I won't complain, so you can take what you wish and give me nothing and pretend it is for my benefit.

I am glad to find myself wrapping up work on the early side again, this evening.  I've been exhausted the past few nights, but I think that I am finally starting to get past it, or at least as much as I ever do.  The truth is that I am pretty much always tired.  My sleep apnea is so severe that the CPAP treatment is not entirely effective, so my sleep quality is still compromised even though I always use the machine whenever I sleep.  I do feel that I am at least getting back to my normal, functional level of tiredness, not that this description makes a great deal of sense.  At times, I wonder just how long it has been since I was truly rested.  I think that I got real and deep sleep when I was first diagnosed and prescribed a CPAP machine, but it has been years since it felt that effective.  I have to investigate the new surgical implant and whether that is a real option for me.

Reduction I am hoping I will get it all that way down beyond the thick to the too thick, the solid, the hard, maybe, even.  I do not know if that is the way it will be, if it can be so. It may sound too much, but it is the goal. It has to be done right, and I may not know the way, may be wrong, may have made mistakes, done the wrong things.  I do not know. It will keep going, for now.  It will get someplace. Even if it is not what I am hoping to achieve, I think the results will be something good. That is the way I am thinking about it, right now, which is a strange thing to discover, since I am so far from optimistic, maybe just lately, but I do not think so.

I am feeling rather tired tonight.  I know that it is a lot earlier than it was when I got to work on my blog last night, but I feel as if it is far later already.  I know that I must have been quite tired last night, as I discovered that I had not properly finished posting my entry before I went to bed, as sometimes happens if I am not paying attention.  I pressed the button to publish, but didn't remember to wait for the prompt asking if I was sure about posting it, and so it wasn't until I got back on the computer earlier today that I noticed the mistake and corrected it.  I was quite exhausted at the time.  And tonight it is far earlier, and yet I think I might be even more tired than I was then.  At least I will remember, I think, to make certain that I post this correctly.

We Talk about Looking for Flowers There is an orchid show and my mother has given us tickets and we think of going. I ask you  if we should, what we might get if we do go, but you ask: why should we bother when neither of us spends time outside any longer?

Tonight was one of those nights when the writing really seemed to drag, but mostly because I wasn't able to get myself to concentrate at first.  I spent a long while just sitting here and thinking about things before I was able to focus and get started, but once I did, the work went quite well.  It was just a question of getting down to work.  I wish that I could get myself to concentrate and focus in right away, but I suppose it is necessary, at times, to go through this kind of process.  At least I am now disciplined enough that I don't let myself just get up and walk away when this happens.  It may mean staying up until three or four in the morning, but I make certain to get the writing done one way or another.

The Damage I want to tell you that I do not think it can be fixed and that it is not fine for it to be broken, and I want you to understand, want you to realize what I am saying. I want you to take responsibility for what you chose to do, want you to realize it. It is not getting better, I want to tell you that I do not think it can be made better. I want you to hear me, to understand the problem, to know what you have done. I want you to hear me when I tell you I do not think it can be fixed, that I cannot imagine a way it could ever turn out well, not after what has been done, and I want you to hear me and find a way to rectify things, to do what I believe is impossible. You will tell me I am unreasonable, but I am only asking that you fix the damage done by your own actions.

I have been struggling to focus with my writing for the past few days.  In part, I am just tired, but I know it is also that I am feeling stressed and overwhelmed and stuck.  There is a lot that feels wrong at the moment, and I can't really imagine it getting better, I can only imagine it taking a huge amount of effort that won't really be worth it in the end, even if it is still going to be necessary.  I need to feel that I am actually progressing towards a tangible outcome, a result, in a real sense, not just measuring the effort I am making, not just my own actions and the work I am doing.  I don't want to keep putting energy into stuff and pretending that that effort is supposed to be its own reward. 

The Imbalance You made certain he had the same things that I had, let him take it even when I said it was not alright, and now you want me to accept that, but I do not.  You want it to be fine, want me to say it is alright, but it is not alright, will not be. I can imagine ways it might be made better, but they are impossible. I would need to have what he was given and I was denied, but you will tell me I cannot have it, and will say I am the one being unreasonable.

I finally put together a bio that I think is pretty good.  As I said last night, I find it uncomfortable to write those kinds of things, but I know it is important.  I think that what I have come up with is pretty good, that it does a decent job of offering some information on who I am and why I write, but without it being too self-aggrandizing.  It is a tough balance, but I am hoping that I was able to strike it.  Of course, again, as I said last night, I think it is probably not really worth worrying too much.  I can't imagine very many situations where my biographical blurb will make a major difference to much of anything.  I tend to think it is just a professional formality, for the most part, and really not much more.  It is still important to have one, though, and if I am going to do it, I might as well try to make it something decent.

I Should Have Demanded It from You Reminded you of your own words, of promises volunteered, of the way things had been already. I should have been bold and not accepted it. Maybe it would be different, maybe it would have changed things. I cannot be certain, of course, cannot even say what would have happened. Maybe you would have hurt me even worse, would have responded with cruelty. I do not know.  It is not impossible. Maybe it would not have changed things, would not have led to a different outcome, but I think I might feel a bit better about it, just making sure you understood  what you had done to me, I think that would have, itself, mattered, even if nothing else were different. But, it is easy to think that, now, all these years later when there is no way to say anything about it and no chance of those promises ever being kept/

The other day I was asked to think about my motivations and intentions as a writer.  Discussing these things often feels very pretentious to me, but that doesn't mean it isn't useful at times, if only as a form of self-assessment.  Indeed, if I consider it with any degree of scrutiny, the act of writing itself is a bit pretentious no matter what.  There is an egotism to the idea of being an artist of any sort, I would think, as it always requires a sense that one has an important or worthwhile perspective, one that others should experience.  That is, I think, an essential aspect of being a writer.  Indeed, when I discuss the purpose for my writing, I tend to think of it as a way to share an aspect of a subjective experience in some way, and for that to seem worthwhile, there must be a sense that this internal dimension is meaningful or significant.  That does not, of course, require that one think of it as uniquely important, can imagine that each mind's subjective experien

Not Fast, But Persistent It drips along, slow but still going, still coming along, dripping out, not fast but  it is not important that it be rapid, that it all come at once.  It is building. It will not be this way all the way, I don't think it will be.  It is building, is developing, there will be more, it will burst or spurt, will start to flow. I think that it will. If I am wrong, even if I am wrong, a drop at a time is still enough to fill a bucket. If it goes long enough, even with just a drop it can even spill over.

I spent a bunch of time today working on a new biographical statement to use with submissions and such.  It is always difficult for me to write these, but it is also necessary.  I think that it might be better to just stop taking it seriously at all and instead just write really crazy, ridiculous bios that are clearly not entirely serious.  I have played around with that as an idea, if not for use as a bio, as a sort of borrowed form in my writing.  It is often fun to make them, to play within that sandbox, but when it is time to write a more serious version, that is more daunting.  I wonder why I think it needs to be so serious a thing.  I doubt that most places read the bios as an important part of a submission package.  It is hard to imagine a serious editor using the bio as a major part of their decision criteria, so why not just try to have a bit of fun with it?  I don't, of course.  I am a still afraid.  I wonder why that is and what would happen if I got past it.

Descriptor You would choose that, would think that, would believe it even a bit accurate? It must be explained, why and how and where did it come from? You said it and I wonder why it is a thing you would say, a belief you would hold, or was it just words? That is, I think, worse, though none of it is all that good, suggests a rift, a misunderstanding, something I think it will be impossible to remove from between us.

The novelist E. L. Doctorow famously described his process for writing a novel with the metaphor of a car driving down a dark road at night.  The car's headlights don't show whole of the road, but they let you see enough to steer through the whole way.  In the same way, he said that he didn't have to know the whole of the story: he knew what to write next, and that was enough.  He could see the road in front of him, as it were.  As much as I would like to be able to plan out my fiction more explicitly, I think that I will always be in this same mode as a writer, and it is probably best to just accept such proclivities .  I am finding that the more I accept that I am kind of along for the ride, the more that I relax about writing, and when I am able to be relaxed in that way, I am a more productive writer.  I think I have been fighting that inclination a bit while working on this new book, in part because I do have a clear, if broad, sense of the story.  As I began, I was tr

Keeping Desire Under Control Yes, I do want it, but I will not because I should not, not now, not tonight.  No, not tonight, not if I am  following the rules and I want to follow the rules tonight, I want to.  I know that is best,  though I have desires, yes, I want  what I cannot have, what the rules will deny me, but I know it is for the best. That is what  I am told, at least, what I am told and believe.

It has been a rather long and draining day, both in terms of physical and emotional exertion, and I am really feeling ready to call it a night.  I have talked about the sense of overwhelm I've had lately, and today it is rather acute.  I've said this many times before, but it is still true: I am glad, at least, to have gotten through my writing tonight.  While I am often frustrated  by things around my writing, the commitment to writing each day is important to me in ways I am not sure I fully grasp.  I know that it is more than just the work itself, but the act of maintaining the dedication itself.  There is something to the nature of remaining committed that I think is significant, even beyond the individual pieces I am producing.

This Is Not Safety is not hiding, is another thing, is opposite, almost, open and seen, exposed; known. It should be clear, it should be. Why the confusion came up at all, that I don't understand. You think  there is a way this can be safe? It is not possible, not at all.  It requires the neck be held out, though there may be knives. That is what is needed. It is not anything safe. That you had that idea is rather confusing to me.

I have been finding myself writing somewhat different poems recently.  Not all of the poetry I write, but a far amount, has been more blunt, I suppose.  I don't know what else to call it.  The poems are much more direct.  Often they are returning to themes that I've explored before, and some even reflect on that repetition, on the inability to move away from certain ideas, emotions, and circumstances.  In some ways, trying to talk about these poems is difficult because I am not certain, when I really think about it, what is actually different in the work.  I know that my approach with them and the feeling of writing them is different in some way, and I am certain that has an impact on the work itself, but being able to explain the shift isn't something I am fully prepared to do right now, I suppose.  I do think it is a positive shift, if only in that it is bringing a new perspective and a new energy, even if I am still writing about the same old stuff.

All of It Is Gone Now It will be, at least for a time. It will return, but maybe it will not be needed, not be asked for again. That would be best. If only it were possible to become free, to not want any longer, to not just be without, but to be without and not think it is gone, not even notice any longer. That would be fine, but will it come? How long until it is that way, or will the need always remain?

I am glad to find myself wrapping up my work quite a bit earlier tonight.  Really, it is almost one already, but relative to the last few nights, when I have been up until after two or three before I was done, it is an improvement.  I've been quite distracted, as I believe I have said before.  I am hoping that things will calm down a bit this week.  I feel like getting to bed a bit earlier tonight might help with my focus as well.

That Things Have Changed isn't surprising at all, but you act as though  it was not possible to expect anything being different, as if your promise was predicated on those circumstances. The world changes. The point of a promise is that it remains true. If it is not true now, it is another lie, is more, adds more, makes worse what has been done. You will tell me I am unfair. Asking you  to do as you promised makes me unfair.

It is quite late already, but even after I finish this I am still going to have a few things to do, I believe.  I have been somewhat distracted this weekend, as Melissa is not feeling well and we were a bit worried, at first, about what it might be.  We do have some answers now, and it appears it is relatively alright, but it has taken much of my time and attention, and now I have a few things that are still waiting to be done even though it is already almost three in the morning.  I suppose that I do this to myself a fair bit, at least in terms of being up too late writing and doing other work, but the fact that it is my own fault certainly doesn't make it less annoying.

Do Not Sit, Thinking Do not be concerned with a right answer, as if it makes sense to think of it in those terms: it limits, it stalls the action, the process is not concerned with your doubt or certainty, it is only  what is done that will matter.

I think that I was correct when I suggested that the biggest thing holding me back with the novel is just finding time to really focus on it more.  There is beginning to be a bit more momentum in the action, and the comedic tone is starting to really come through, I think.  I know that much of the early work on this piece was kind of floundering, and I am not entirely certain about where or how the book will begin, or even how much of what I have written so far is really going to be part of the final piece, but I am now at a point where I feel more on solid ground with it.  In truth, I suspect much of my uncertainty has been held over from starting in that way, but I think that being more aware of that will be helpful in shifting my attitude.  I also need to recognize that I know what I need to in order to write this story.  When I started, there were a lot of things that still felt nebulous to me about what I was writing and where it was going, but since then I have figured out a lot

It Cannot Be That Way I know it is fine for you, that you accept it and think that is best, that it is no good to complain or argue, or even to want for it to be better. Just to accept it. That is your advice, but it is not for me. It does me no good, of course it does not. I am wanting reality to be another way. Still, the need remains. It does not change, and it will not. Accepting what is wrong, does not make it better. I know you will say I do not understand, which is what I am telling you.

I am stumbling in attempting to write this novel at the moment.  It is not in the same way as I was at the start.  I have a much better sense of the story now, but I am not quite into the real action, even though I recognize it is building towards it.  I think the first portion is largely going to be about establishing certain characters and relationships, as well as pointing in the direction of what is coming.  The real issue for me I'd just keeping focus, I think.  It has been hectic this week and I should keep that in mind.  It may well be that I will find myself far more connected to the piece when I have a chance to put more energy into it again.

The Other Poem I Meant This to Be It was all in mind, before: the words, the place for each of the words, what would be  what would not be. Each detail was ready, but I was not. It may return, I hope it will now that I remember it was ever a thing at all.

I am going to be rather quick tonight.  Melissa is not feeling well and I want to focus on taking care of her.  I still got my writing done tonight, but I wasn't as fast as I wish I had been.  I should just wrap this up and get back to her, even if it means that this blog post is pretty pointless except as me fulfilling the obligation of writing an entry for tonight.  Oh well, sometimes you just do the minimum and it has to be enough.

Those Places Were Ours Deep down ours, not simple, not a today thing: was memory, history, was more.  Home, yes, but that is not enough, I don't think, might be  insufficient.  It was ours.  I felt it, always, knew the floors, the walls, knew, too, the past, any ghosts here were our ghosts, were of us.  It was haunted, I suppose, was alive with those of the past, at least to me. Now, it will be gone, will be a place where I cannot return. I do not know  what that will mean. How can I know what always seemed too impossible?

I have had a long day and am quite tired.  I was up and out of bed by around six this morning and have been on my feet most of the day since then.  On top of that, I had a rather intense afternoon dealing with some family issues that I don't want to delve into here, but beyond my physical exhaustion, I am also emotionally drained.  I did get my work done tonight, though it was one of those rare times when I am strongly tempted to take an evening off.  I just know that if I decided to do that, it would give me permission to take more nights off from writing, and I spent to many years not writing for that to not seem like a risk.  I worked hard to train myself to write each day and I don't want to fall away from that practice.

I Did as Told Did it all just the way it should be, though I do worry it is not all done in all the right ways, is as it should be and not another way. I make mistakes with these things and never notice. It is too simple to do it all wrong and not even know. I do think it was right but, probably, I will never know.