Manually transferring years of blog posts in an effort to find my monkeys.
I did write daily for four years starting June 03, 2003. Or was it 2004? The timestamp on the entries say one year and the comments say another. I am made aware that the writing is inconsistent. Some of the posts are just stupid. Some are surprisingly good. That’s the whole point of writing every day, isn’t it? By sheer volume, one is bound to make something that nails it.
It’s tempting not to post the subpar bits, but I’ll do it anyhoo. Gah, there’s been a lot of living in a dozen years: an ending of a marriage, a string of lovers, growing children, there was that stroke, there have been losses, and new loves.
I’m reading a story from a point further on. It’d be sweet to be able to tell one’s self that there will be something else beyond the tribulation of that moment. Or maybe it’s good to say hold onto that thing as long as you can.
Words: productive, awake, alive