And it has been a year.
Oh, has it? Really, my dear?
Is it mandatory to take stock when one has been writing for a significant amount of time, I wonder. Well, it hardly matters because I take stock as a matter of course every second Tuesday anyhow.
Of course it ain't Tuesday, but what matter?
What did I do, this one year? Got mail. Wrote mail. Met people. If I were to enumerate all the things I did that were significant at all, it would take too long, and bore me to tears partway, and really, that's not allowed.
I wrote, this year.
157 posts over at some yells.
89 poems over at yellow.
15 excursions into fiction, or something like it, over at not.
176 moans here, at blue.
And I broke barriers and fought prejudices and opened up one big part of me, just because no one will come in if you aren't open. And I wove around myself delightful fantasies that will never come true because I'm too timid to try, and I wrote around people the most splendid of characters, and through it all, I believed.
More fool I.
But a lovable fool, in the end; and if you love yourself there's nothing more you need, right?
Hmm. We'll see about that.
time to untangle the tee.
Oh, has it? Really, my dear?
Is it mandatory to take stock when one has been writing for a significant amount of time, I wonder. Well, it hardly matters because I take stock as a matter of course every second Tuesday anyhow.
Of course it ain't Tuesday, but what matter?
What did I do, this one year? Got mail. Wrote mail. Met people. If I were to enumerate all the things I did that were significant at all, it would take too long, and bore me to tears partway, and really, that's not allowed.
I wrote, this year.
157 posts over at some yells.
89 poems over at yellow.
15 excursions into fiction, or something like it, over at not.
176 moans here, at blue.
And I broke barriers and fought prejudices and opened up one big part of me, just because no one will come in if you aren't open. And I wove around myself delightful fantasies that will never come true because I'm too timid to try, and I wrote around people the most splendid of characters, and through it all, I believed.
More fool I.
But a lovable fool, in the end; and if you love yourself there's nothing more you need, right?
Hmm. We'll see about that.
time to untangle the tee.
1 comment:
In a hole in the ground there lives a hobbit. He wears a red party hat and jumps out at blue passing strangers, singing
"Happy Birthday!"
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