I don’t know why I thought it would be a good idea to write a blog post every day for 31 days… to join a bunch of bloggers I don’t even know… and write?
One post missed already. Missing a few more won’t matter.
Don’t think I can keep up with them…
It’s amazing how a mind can rationalize.
The dinner dishes have long been done. She’s asleep in her chair. The husband is watching tv and playing with his new cell phone. So, I could write….
…so, I call my folks. They’re still getting used to their new living arrangement, the small apartment, the quieter life. Dad doesn’t say much on the extention. He doesn’t like eating in a communal dining room. Mom is good at sounding cheery. I hear the words she’d like to say but can’t.
She worries for my sister. Me too. I don’t know how she does what she does. She takes care of people. She does for a living for many, what I do for just one. And her people adore her… she’s kind and gentle and does whatever she can to make them happy. And then at the end of the day she goes home to a life that hasn’t been so kind and gentle to her.
I’m proud of her. She carries on. It would be easy not to.
I think she got a bigger dose than me of that special caring gene. I don’t know how she does it.
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When I decided to write these blog posts, I created a spreadsheet of ideas. A big, fat nerdy spreadsheet. I wonder if other folks put their writing on a spreadsheet?
There are lots of ideas left, but they scare me a little.
Why am I more comfortable manipulating a spreadsheet than getting to the heart of the writing? I believe it’s called stalling.
“Getting old is not for wimps”, Mom tells me often. I completely agree.
And I feel completely wimpy tonight.