alright... about that last journal.So I must apologise for that last journal. I should have deleted it after all!More Like This
The mistake I made was that I wrote a journal that was really me just working things out as I went. That's fine, but I have a 'thought journal' for that, and unloading all that text on you guys was a misstep on my part.
It makes me even more grateful to those that responded, and I'm glad rotane had the presence of mind to not read it all. But still, sorry.
It does lead into another topic I wanted to write about. And that's my re-connection with my inner story teller/writer. It's something I once enjoyed ...that depression killed. As it killed a lot of things that would have made me a better person.
TeresaClark said she watches me for the journals, and that's something others have said before too. That actually touches me. Boop. Even though depression killed my capacity to write from my mind, it didn't stop me from writing period and I guess that came through in my journals.
SheepLincoln’s hat was ten feet tall as he gave the Gettysburg address. He’d have to remove it to don his helmet before boarding the spaceship. The in-flight movie was Mel Brooks’ “History of the World Part 99.” Who’d want to miss that? My fingers and toes ached from the cold, but I held my place in the crowd, shivering. Oprah said we could all go, and that was good enough for me. I still didn’t see how thousands of us would fit in, but I’d learned to trust her over the years. Ed McMahon (or was it Manfred Mann?) stood by me holding a huge Publisher’s Clearinghouse check. He didn’t look well. We were going to the toppermost of the poppermost, Johnny. Cat Fred be damned. ‘50s housewives be damned. We were on our way to heaven, and God was the pilot. A small man with a colander hat began to shuffle us into the ship. We were on our way, warts and all, bleating like sheep. All happily ready to board the USS Abattoir.More Like This