340 Days Until the big Five-0

I sat at the window waiting for the rain. It did not come for 39 days. I watched the sun come and go always followed by the moon. If I stay in this chair I can imagine the moon is simply chasing the sun and will never catch up. I am waiting for the rain because I need an excuse to stay inside and write. Otherwise I just stay inside. If it is not raining and I have no excuse for staying inside then I feel horrible that I am wasting the beautiful weather. It is raining this morning. So I am returning to my blog. I was gone from the computer for a long time. My lap top got a virus. It was obviously contagious in someway and gave me a bad case of writers block (is there a science fiction novel in there somewhere?) I had to take my LapTop to the Computer Doctor. It was in the “computer infirmary” for about 3 or 4 days. So my countdown was interrupted by forces beyond my control. Yet, since it is so easy to lie on the computer, and I am suppose to be using my imagination, I will simply pretend that I never missed a day and place entries as if they were typed in chronological order.

So, technically (as my 10 year old daughter would say) my countdown will stay intact. Truth be told (a rarity in our present culture) I did write in my journal. Those spiral notebooks were my first true love. That is how I got started. I have gone so far as to actually take a couple of them and type them into my computer. Each one is a mixture of Diary, Fantasy, Fiction, Personal Essays, Rants, Venting., all done for no apparent reason other than I could. “What are you writing?” People would ask me, and I would always say “I don’t know.” And I didn’t. And I don’t.

I guess I am trying to figure it out myself and hope the more I do it that suddenly a purpose will present itself magically. It will be as if I had been using invisible ink which materialized in the form of a Map showing me the way to a Hidden Treasure. What is the hidden treasure? I often feel as if I have lived for 49 years without knowing a purpose. And, there is nothing I want more than some golden singular purpose of my existence to justify or explain what this life has been all about. I guess I am hoping my writing will reveal this purpose and I will have some sense of satisfaction and feel justified for having used so much oxygen, ink, paper, food, natural resources, time, money etc. etc. Do other people need to feel their lives are “justified”?.