Why bother...? really I have only placed 100 posts on this sad little lonely site. I have fewer visitors than the Island on that television show "Lost". I am reminded of one of my favorite Simon and Garfunkle songs, "I am an Island, I am a Rock". Oh, I know the Blog is not a living thing like a chunk of land with trees and bugs and animals. Writing is dead. The words cannot really come alive. The paper is just part of a dead tree, and that is only if I have chosen to actually print it out. Otherwise, the words I am watching unfold on my computer screen will simply disappear from my eyes when I hit "publish" or "save". I am self publishing a electronic diary for the world to see and no one in the world really gives a shit. Oh, maybe my husband will look at this and get worried thinking these are the words of a depressed woman or my sister-in-law will continue her quest to encourage me, but who else will ever really see this. Hell, I could be writing porn for that matter. Maybe then I could get an audience.
If I don't print it out than what happens after I have moved on to write something else or simply read, a far better option if it is quality I am interested in. Oh, I am just feeling sorry for myself today. I am doing laundry. I would rather be doing something else. I am not really "doing" laundry anyways, the washer and dryer are. I am just loading and taking things out of machines much like I am with this blog. But instead of putting in dirty clothes and taking out clean ones I am putting in boring words and taking out air. See, if I don't print this on paper, then really I am just using up air. Using vital oxygen for these empty words to travel aimlessly through space and time. These words are simply partilces too small to be seen by the human eye.
I think my mother is dying and it is scariest, lonliest, saddest place I have ever been, out here in space with these words, invisible to the world. I wish someone could see us, me, my words, my mother, our dreams disappearing. I hate myself for leaving her side today but I told myself I needed a break to attend to my laundry, and my kids. I spent the morning procrastinating, reading in between loads of light and dark clothes and thoughts.
Like good friends, the number of life's real accomplishments is very few in number. Given the hand that your mother has been dealt, she has done remarkably well -- a real kaluki.
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