Going Inkless

     I feel as if I have lost an awful lot of sleep in the last few years, as if catching up on it all would put me out for months.  Sleep in my teen years was feast or famine.  Which side of the covers I was on was decided by what was spinning in my head at the moment, the phase of the moon, or how much coffee I had consumed that day.  It was nothing at all for me to stay up all night writing, down in the basement bedroom I shared with my older sister (then, later with my next youngest.)  I might read long hours into the night as the rest of the house slept if the mood struck me.  On the other hand, each Sunday was chiefly divided between sleeping until about 1 pm and doing my laundry (which later sat in piles-sometimes folded- at the foot of my bed until they found their way into the hamper again.)  Except for the commitment of school, my time was mostly my own, flexible enough that I could stay up or sleep in as fit my mood or creative cyc...

     In the time between the last post and this one, I've been back and forth on what its subject should be.  One day, I'll think a particular topic is important to speak on, but before I can start putting words on the page, life comes along and distracts me.  Things happen that draw me away from my intention to write, or else my mind is drawn to another topic of equal importance.  New ideas or interests occur to me, and they too are shuffled to the bottom of a list that includes more pressing ways to eat up my day.  At the end of it, or rather at the point where I can see breathing room to actually put a post together, I'm faced with all sorts of possibilities.  There are half a dozen things I might expound on, some merely interesting and frivolous, some with weight and purpose, and some I know would have been perfect if only I remembered what they were.  Where to start?  and What to leave behind?      Those two questio...