An Experimental Blog
I mentioned many times how much I love the feel of pen on paper. I love to write. But as I look at the few old journals that I still have I realize they are illegible to anyone but me and I also believe no one will actually ever read them. Not only that, I have arthritis in my hands now that limit how much I can write and I don't think it's going to progressively get any better. I have always held with the belief that the pen in my hand and the paper I am writing on or somehow magical, that they brought out a muse that didn't exist in the speaking world. Here I'm going to try to find out whether or not that is true. I'm going to start with something that has been difficult to either to put on paper, or put into any words at all. What happened to my marriage to Steve? The end was nothing less than a messy disaster. Once upon a time I could have listed everything during the seven years preceding the end that had led up to it. Now I find with fading memory much of it ...