Stuff

Writing for the sake of writing and making an effort to do so daily is not as easy as I thought it would be for me. I suspect the word "discipline" plays a significant part in my lapses. Disciplined is not the first word anyone would assign to me on the best of days. On my other days they would laugh and make fun. I believe many of us believe we can sit down at the keyboard and write eloquently straight from the brain and be fresh and new each day. I do write straight from my brain...no notes or research or even thinking things through. Most of my posts take under 15 minutes. Imagine what I could accomplish if I chose to develop my writing or what I could ruin. I believe stream of consciousness and impromptu venues suit me best though I could be lying to myself in order to avoid discipline in my daily life. Yep! I will bet that is my dirty, little secret. I don't relish the idea of writing being a discipline. I want to be a writing savant and spend my days pouring out words onto paper that are undeniably the best of the best. Of course once I finished for the day someone might have to feed and bathe me and put me to bed as "savant" is associated with one highly evolved and unexplainable talent at the cost of a balanced mind and body. As much as I dislike the idea of a daily discipline (which I have not achieved to this point) I believe I would choose it over having an amazing talent at the keyboard with no other faculties fully intact.

I wonder how my mind goes off on these tangents. I intended to write about the smells of the night air as I walked home from my mother's home. I intended to mention the faint scent of gardenias wafting through the air evoking a deep southern response from me. A response so tied to the spirit of a southern girl that the scent may be an integral part of my DNA. Steps further towards my home the air held the scent of rinse softener from a nearby neighbor's home as their clothes spun in the dryer. A tall pine tree in the corner of my front yard splayed out in partial view as the street lamp that lights my living room also lit the pine tree until the surrounding darkness took over where the light left off.

It is a metaphor for life. We stand in the glow of the light as it pushes out into the darkness. We avoid acknowledging our fear that the darkness will swallow us whole. At the furtherest end of the light all of us meet darkness and we cannot find our way. Many of us learn to carry light with us to banish the darkness.

Well, our siamese kitten (tongue in cheek, as the once tiny kitten is as big as a full grown cat) wanted to climb into my lap and snuggle. He never knew his mother. A wonderful woman bottle fed him and let him sleep with her when he was too young to be adopted to a family. He fit into our hands at the time. Today, not so many weeks later, he is a poser posing as a kitten in an adult cat's body. Anyway, he begged to get into my lap asking for hugs and stroking of his back and scratching behind his ears .I pulled him close to me so I could continue to type.  In short order he grew weary of the laptop and jumped off my lap in search of something a bit more interesting!

I am fading fast. Night!