I don't write anymore. Ever. I never write. I have several mostly empty notebooks. I've bought them for the purpose of picking up writing again. But I haven't.

I'll think of things. I'll amuse myself, often, with stuff, thoughts. And then ... I'm bored with it.

I'm already bored with this.

But I'm tired of being angry. I'm tired of fussing about how my life isn't the way I think it ought to be. I'm tired of being some bump on a log and not doing anything worthwhile.

My life isn't bad. I'm blessed and I know it. But I'm not doing anything.

So. BAM. Here it is. A commitment:

I'm going to type in this here blog every day for one year. 365 days. Iknow it's trite. I know it has been done. I know I'm not doing anything groundbreaking and I don't even have a theme. But, well, my theme will be turning my shiz around. Making life. I'm going to do it.

I have nothing to say. That's the voice inside my head. That's what I hear everytime I pick up a pen. Some stupid, evil, gaslighting voice inside my head trying to prevent me from failing.