searching

Participating in BYOB (not what it meant in the old days) is pushing me beyond my comfort zone. Writing on paper with pen much more viable than trying to learn how to put something out there to share. The trick being finding it again . The joy of writing is gone by the wayside as I learn formatting and submitting something hoping to find it again.

At sixty-seven years of age learning to write every day on the laptop or tablet. Paper and pen please. This process seems so impersonal. This format is for the final draft to be edited.

Change. I don’t do well with change.

Change is uncomfortable. Unlike my navy blue velour zippered floor length bathrobe and lavender suede slippers. No pipe. I love the smell of pipe tobacco. Instead of my comfy rocking chair I have a Cadillac of a lift chair to keep my swollen feet higher than my heart.

I sit here in front of this machine, my head nodding wanting a cuppa something. I don’t indulge in alcohol anymore. It takes me places I don’t care to go and into someone I no longer want to be. No I can’t play with one or two.

It’s seven something in the evening. Do I care if coffee would keep me up? A cuppa coffee with some vanilla ensure will do the job.

I am back to proudly say I figured out how to add an image to my page. This is day nine.

I am determined and encouraged to read my fellow byobers to continue striving, not just with my writing, but the formatting and computer machinations that go with it.

It is day nine and I am feeling more connected to this journey. I am digging through expectations, theirs, and claiming mine. I want to be a tool God uses to reach others. To share our disrupted journeys and realize we are never alone. In our Chronic Human Imperfection (Bill Pew) we are connected even when inside we feel the lights are definitely lost.

Someone acting out their pain on me does not make me a Pain.