Friday, July 01, 2016

So here I am.

The world keeps changing around me. I have all sorts of things to write about but as soon as I get ready the world takes another turn.

Turn.

Turn.

Turn.

I've gotten out of the habit of writing. I think to myself when I sit down to write "who reads?"

This is a pointless question. I've never written for anyone but myself. I do this for me. Selfish. True. I read me.

But I haven't been reading me lately. And I haven't been writing me lately.

A lack of writing means lost memories, lost experiences. The little bits and pieces, the flotsam and jetsam that make a life all disappearing between cracks of memory and time.

I have too little time not to capture the few moments that I have to collect.

So, I've set myself a challenge to catch up and tell the stories I have not told. The order is irrelevant as it matters only to me. The audience is myself.

But I don't want to lose myself in the wash of life and be nothing but another pixel creating the image of a world in which my own life means nothing until combined with the whole. I may not be separate from the whole, my life may have little outside of that, but for me, I want to be more.

Here we start.

The lightening is slapping down outside my window tonight. It makes my dog anxious. It makes me a little anxious. I wait for a lover to come and entertain me.

I've decided to leave New York.

I've decided life is to short.

After six hours of back and forth I decided what to eat for dinner.

I am full of decisions tonight.

Tomorrow there will be more. I have words. I just need to write them.

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