So much for getting here everyday.

I wonder how writing for fifteen minutes a day, or writing one paragraph a day would work. Perhaps it will lead to at least one post a week. Or it may make me less ramble-y, though I doubt that.

I lose track of time. Not just in the getting-lost-in what-I’m-doing way, but also in a when-did-I do-that? and how-long-ago-was-that? way. Past time is ultra compressed for me. I think it’s because I simply omit the boring stuff. Where it is actually “highlight . . . . highlight . . . . . . . . highlight . . . .,” it feels like “highlight highlight highlight.” So I’m missing all that dot time, which is probably a lot more time than the highlights. My now over 40 years old son should still be a late teen or 20-something. Grandchildren should all be under, not over!, ten years old (except the oldest who’s a year older than my son, so she should be a 20-something, too). I’m not bored, so how does my life seem to be so boring?? I guess it’s normal enough. Someone I talked to in my 20s thought I’d lived an exciting life. But of course, she heard only the highlights, not the dots. . . . .

Anyway, I’m not complaining about my life being boring. I’m not bored even if I’m boring. I’m just trying to remember how long ago some things happened. I know that I’ve known my husband for 53 and a half years, but if I didn’t have a highlight memory of our meeting and a date for our wedding, I’d say I’d known him all my life. At the same time, it certainly doesn’t feel like it’s been over 50 years! Of course, I don’t feel like I’m over 50 years old, either. Most of the time, I don’t feel any older than about 30 years–even with the aches and pains that have developed since I actually was that young.

And now, I’ve forgotten what I was trying to remember when it happened. Oh, well. I need to go to bed!

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