Words Upon Words

Stick my hands inside and pull them out.

I used to write a lot several years ago. I didn’t seem to have any trouble coming up with things to talk about to the ether that is the internet. People would drop by and read snippets of my life, comment (mostly not) and then go on their way. I’ve “met” some nice people through that activity. I started actually blogging when Diary-X was extant. I started on November 11, 2001. No, that wasn’t a coincidence. I needed some way of processing the images of that day. My blog was private for about a month or so, then Thomas showed me how to open it up to other readers. At that same time I learned how to find other blogs to read. At its height, I was reading over 40 blogs a day. I have pruned that down to 5 or so. Some people have pretty much stopped updating. I’m curious as to what their lives are like now.

In the years of going to school, I stopped blogging as much, partly because I was always reading and writing for school, and partly because I didn’t feel like I had much to say. Then, when Dad died, it was like my entire creative spirit was drained. That’s pretty much when things stopped. After Thomas died, I had lost the ability to express myself, being lost in the grief of the time. The grief and hurt is still very much extant, but I want a way of processing it that doesn’t involve just sitting in it. I think I’m done with the wallowing. Maybe.

I have been experiencing poetic moments, times when I speak and the poetry is there. The synthesis of words just comes, flows out as if I were an overflowing well. Thus far, I’ve not had paper or pen, or the ability to write at the time (like when I’m driving). I can’t use a recorder because of the risk of distracted driving and I can't read my mental notes. A pox on my process of middle age that leaves me forgetting things.

It’s all about words, spoken and written.