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"Like a leaf on the breeze you blew away."

I've gone and frittered away most of my blogging time for the day (which does sound like a euphemistic way of saying I've no time remaining during which to masturbate). So, this will probably be short.

Few things are more embarrassing than going back and reading nine and ten year of LJ entries. Which is not to say I'm sorry they're there. I'm very glad they're there, even if I blanche at what I wrote in those entries. They are memories I would have lost, otherwise. They are a snapshot of a time and a place and a voice that has vanished. I will never be able to understand people who can destroy dairies and erase online journals.

But it is also true that I do not "move on."

I will move on when I am dead.

Yesterday, I wrote nothing. I was in a rage, that came on the night before and was with me until late last night. We drove west out of Providence, bound for nowhere in particular in northeastern Connecticut – Eva Canning country. But the sky was sullen, low, late November, a sky that would soon spit rain and wanted to spit snow. The orange and gold and yellow and red leaves might have seemed beautiful beneath the sun, but in those clouds they truly were just dead and dying things. There was some horrible crowd gumming up the road along Scituate, and we were bogged in traffic that worsened my mood. Traveling west on 101, we did make it as far as Killingly, Conn. before turning finally back. We'd left Providence at ~2:00 p.m., and we returned home at ~4:00 p.m. It was a waste of money and gasoline. But I was, once again, astounded at how small New England is. Hidden away in my office again, I calculated that Rhode Island would fit into Alabama 43 times, with a bit of room left over there to the right of the decimal point. Indeed, Alabama is as large as the bulk of New England. And Georgia's even larger. So, it's no wonder I find myself so disoriented, living here in the smallest of the fifty U.S. states.

I'm going on, despite having frittered.

On Friday, I wrote 768 words, which is nothing to be proud of, when I need to be writing a minimum of ~1,300 a day, every day without fail. Well, I've use failed two days in a row. And I'll be losing Wednesday and Thursday to the trip to Manhattan. And I just have to hope we don't get sick because of the trip.

Yeah, fun, fun, fun.

Spooky's new laptop arrived late on Friday. She's named it Gypsy, and it's a spiffy little whippersnapper.

Snapping Whips,
Aunt Beast


Oct. 15th, 2013 11:42 pm (UTC)
The first time I went to New England, I was astounded - we crossed four states in the time that it took to get across metro Atlanta (in moderate traffic). I knew intellectually that they were small states, but experiencing it was an entirely different thing.

I completely agree about journals/diaries. Packed away somewhere in the house, I have a box that has diaries dating back to 3rd grade. As far as I know, I have every diary that I've ever kept. I don't necessarily care to look very often, but the idea of throwing them away is appalling. And it seems discourteous to the small girl, later teen-ager, who spent so much time writing it all.