The day started out nicely. I woke with the sun, padded out to the kitchen to start the coffee. After I switched my night bag to my day bag, put my hearing aids on, turned off the blanket and the HEPA filter, that is. Gone are the days that I hit the floor running. But it is what it is, to cite an old saw.
I sat down and dutifully took my blood sugar, blood pressure, pulse, oxygen, temperature, and weight to please the myriad of medical people that see me and call me often for that information. Then the insulin injection for my instant breakfast of blueberry turnovers and Metamucil™. At one time in my life, I just grabbed the coffee and went out on the porch to watch my rural neighborhood awaken, then went inside to share my observations with my readers. I resent the time I must spend in morning preparations. But I just can’t lay down and die. Not that I fear death, but I am less than enthused about the dyeing part of it. I hate dealing with so much morbidity, so I use gallows humor in confronting it. I wish it offended less people than it does, but we all share in Adams failure. Non the less, it is a tragedy, but I don’t want to dig into that midrash at this moment.
For this precise instant, however, I leave those thoughts to peer out my real window at the softly lit neighborhood, and through my virtual window at the limerence of friends and family. It is for you I write.
I forget that from time to time. I have heard writers say, “I write for myself”. No. I can only say that if I write in a private diary. My posts are sort of like sitting at the kitchen table and talking to you. I doubt that I will see most of you again, at least in this realm. And some of you I have never sat with. I only know you by your words. Oddly, though, I think of my virtual friends as often as those I have met.
I also want to get back in the habit of writing every day so that I can distance myself from the big ME that my infrequent posts are now dwelling on. I notice my writing skills have waned with my absence, and I really do miss them. I am full of words and want to put them down. I want to live in someone else’s head for a while. I am tired of mine.
So I begin by living in my head … curious, no? I have to start somewhere, though.
Later: The sun has risen, the coffee drunk, the coffee cake shared with Snookums, and I must wrap this up, publish it, and move on with my life.
 Midrash – midrashim. Jewish teachings from the Torah. Loosely, homilies and teachings. I interpret the term loosely here.