I would if I could.
Eyes hurt. Nose stuffed. Tooth pain from something broken in rear of mouth. I’m guessing it’s a tooth. <g>

Reeling in all my inner strength to avoid a primal scream.

The Language of a Virus Society is seeping into everything I say and do. So. Eureka! Happiness is finally finding The Great Green Binder where I faithfully stockpiled and stored my poetry for many years. How the Great Green Binder landed in the box it was in is a mystery for the ages. I have been searching for this looseleaf for months. So. Release the poetry! Simple joy!

Not a joke: I thought I saw dolphins swishing in the pool.

I must be in the hallucinatory phase.
Or…
I am having Venice Envy. (I’m sorry. That phrase offends me as well.)

This pun brought to you by the Letter P.

Yes. I was born with a pen in my hand and books were my first friends. That should be evidence beyond reasonable doubt these boots were made for writing. And, philosophically speaking, the joy is in the writing. It exists, and therefore I am.

But when I write, it feels like I am on stage, performing for you. I like to entertain people with words. I love the sound of the keys tapping under my fingers. I love the song and the rhythm, the notes and the beats. I hear you reading as I compose.

So no, I don’t just write for me. If the words aren’t getting across, from me to you, making you feel something, something is wrong on my end. Writing is an art. It needs to be shared.

“Let me entertain you…”

Why didn’t I think of this?

As seen on Twitter:

A priest, a minister, and a rabbit walk into a blood bank…

The rabbit says, “I think I might be a type o.”

“Would you help teach me one day?”

Oh Dad. You have no idea what you have taught me. Since Day One.

This is Alzheimer’s. Tuesday, May 21st, 2019.
The highs and lows and all the miles in between.

When I realized the level of his clarity on this phone call with my daughter, Alex Ross, I thought to grab my cell and tape the conversation. I will treasure these moments. Is it the way it was? No. It is the way it is. And this is what I have learned to accept. Love life as it is. I cry every day. But then there are moments like this that remind me: I am alive. I have to go on. Not -move- on. And I do want to go on.

It’s a little personal. There’s a broken nose. There is swollen skin. But there is love. And this is what matters most. It inspires me to be the person I want to be. To laugh, to create, to connect. Every day. Every darn day.

“To love another person is to see the face of God.” – Victor Hugo

www.scbwi.org/awards/grants/work-in-progress-grants/karen-and-philip-cushman-late-bloomer-award/

Still blooming after all these years? This award is for you. Maybe me. (Checking my birth certificate.)

Yup. I’m good to go here.

I would love to order a shrink wrap in a diner to talk me through all my worries.

That’s what I call soul food. 😉

A tweet tossed into the universe, written on whim, receives an avalanche of attention.

Words deliberately constructed in definitive intention and purpose often float by without recognition. I am the audience of one.

Is there a lesson here? Write more. Think less?

I want to thank all my fellow friends and writers for pacing in unity waiting for a thumbs up or down in the Erma Bombeck essay writing competition.

Today, I learned I made it to the top round and into the finals. Not a winner. I’m good to go with that. Best words shared: “Darn close.”

What a wonderful, almost-perfect ending.
I hear Erma whispering the echo of words, once told to her, now in my ears: “You go, girl. You can write.”

Personal Rejection. The next best thing to Being There. 😉

I was not born this way. I shy from anything technical. But a writer has to do what a writer has to do. Hours upon hours talking with a Microsoft customer service representative led to more dead ends than my fried hair in summer.

And then.

4:40 am. A few hours ago. You can call me an IT Girl. Call me THAT GIRL. Call me… a heroine! I plugged away and changed settings and searched online for self-help and Eureka! The State of the Union is… WORKING.

This is a dream come true for an English major. I get happy changing high hat light bulbs. Success is a poem, not IMAP or POP protocols.

I did it!

I am having immense snafus setting up a new computer. I was on the phone with Microsoft for many hours Sunday and then, as I suspected, the call ended when the remote technician tried to move me into the email department. Windows Live was my old standard go-to but it doesn’t seem to be available anymore for downloads or support. Outlook (part of Office 365 in Microsoft) has Outlook but I have bled my fingers to the bone trying to set that service up for my regular email (RossWord) to no avail. I don’t like gmail for my default email system. I placed a call to my internet provider at approximately 3 AM. She told me to come back after 7 AM.
What do you use as subject titles in test emails to yourself?
My last one was called SHUT UP.
It gets ugly at 3 AM and you start wondering whether anything you do is right.

How many times did I change passwords today because old ones were too new for re-use and g-d I hate the ones I chose in haste. I should know words. I have run out of memorable passwords.
Now singing:
“What good is sitting alone in your room…” ;>

So. Yes.
Frustrating. It is 6:30 AM. I am still awake from Sunday.
I gave myself permission to cry.
I just listened to old voicemails
from my mom and dad from 2018 and 2019.
That hurt.

Call me,
A Glutton for Punishment