I have always jotted down my thoughts, emptying the "monkey mind" onto paper. blank books and journals all over the house, stuffed under bookshelves, one or two pages written, a few pages missing - ripped out to serve some other purpose, or burnt with vengence to release the demons that I imprison on the page.
But now I write sporadically, to educate or inform. My "real blog," Road to Slainte, is an informative news letter that I use to educate people about options for treatment in the world of chronic pain, especially pelvic pain or TMJ problems. I write reports to doctors, emails to colleagues, instructional papers for patients or others. I'm not sure if I remember how to write for fun, or therapy. Pens (I hate pencils) are elusive creatures in our house. Paper, especially lined, or bound, or pretty, loses itself under couches and mouse cages pretty easily around here. Computers abound though. My darling husband is a total geek, he has old, outdated, but very functional computers all over out house.
This adds to the constant confusion. There are ALWAYS electronic things turned "on" in our house. Computers, TV, musical devices in various forms. We have a VERY small house, with all noise making contrivances pointing to the center, and we all sit in different rooms shouting across the house to communicate. OK - we are probably the calmest, quietest house in our neighborhood, it just seems loud to me. Then of course there are the 2 dogs, 1 cat, 2 mice, rabbit and lizard. I shouldn't complain, my daughter takes care of everything but the dogs, with very few reminders. When she is gone to her Dad's house, I take care of her animals. The kid does like 20 minutes worth of animal chores every day, without complaint. Weird. I did chores (lots) as a kid - you know, the farm girl thing - but I remember complaining - more complaints than work if I recall.
If you know me (or not)- feel free to comment.
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