Wish me luck. in These titles mean nothing.

I’m back to where I started eight or so months ago. Except now I’m older and wiser. Here’s hoping.

I just wrote my 750 words. I had flow this morning. It was the kind of thing I might write if this were an anonymous diary. I sort of regret the idea that words are written to never be read. Seems wasteful. But I suppose it makes more sense than writing stuff that gets you in trouble.

I’ve always had concerns about the private and public aspects of writing on line. I have a past of messy spiral notebooks full of god knows what and a weekly newspaper column that was pretty public. When I write on line it’s a combination of those things. I am aware that people read what I write. I am aware that people who know me in real life read this - or that they may read it - I generally don’t get much feedback from real life people.

Anyway I can’t write total heart emptying, head emptying trainwrecks of entries. I can’t tell you what I really think. About anything. So.... what good is any of it? Search me.

It’s time to leave for work. I gotta find my socks and put on my shoes. Again.

Wish me luck.