November First

November first is today and has lots of implications and meanings.  My birthday is in a couple weeks.  Mom's birthday was last week.  Thanksgiving is in a few more weeks.  My guy's birthday is after that.

It is also day one of NaNoWriMo and NaBloPoMo.  National Novel Writing Month encourages folks to just write.  Just get it all out and not to impose the self-monitoring which edits, censors, and can cripple you into thinking you must be perfect.  And since perfection is not possible, an unreal expectation, a standard so high that we cannot possibly attain it; so why try?  And then that creativity that should be nurtured within, so that it can bloom; dies off before it even sees the light of day.  So there is the encouraging company that all over the world, there are writers scurrying, tongues tucked into the corner of their mouths, maniacal chortles erupting from their throats, tears coursing down their checks, fingers cramping over keyboards...ah, such wonders and joys of writing!  (actually, i can't speak for others, only myself...and all ya'll wonder why i don't post pix of myself!  geez can ya blame me?  one time i considered a webcam, and then i shuddered when i realized that i would be sharing visions of myself with tangled bedhead, groggy eyes, imprinted face, slovenly holey clothes, blowing my nose and contorting my face in real-time.  i only considered the webcam one time.  and that was enough)

National Blogging Post Month is much more attainable for some folks, who want to commit themselves to a goal but not a huge one like 50,000 words (as is the case for NaNoWriMo); so they (read "me") decide to post once a day for the entire month of November.  Now some of you may snort and roll your eyes, thinking that shhhhyeah right, like that's so hard; but some of us don't post daily.  Some of us intend to post daily, and we don't.  cuz life happens.  cuz we think that each post needs to be witty.  cuz we think we have nothing worth saying or worth reading or worth sharing.  cuz we don't honor ourselves enough to write it anyway.  or to choose not to, instead of feeling we can't because it is too inane, embarrassing, etc.

well, i intend to participate in both.  and the road to hell is paved with good intentions and republicans.  i know, i've been there and back.

in a handbasket.