First random thinking ...

                I think I may owe my ability to write to my mother. She has always been an avid reader, though not what one might consider a remarkable mind. She is known for her remarkable heart, however. Always willing to help when others are in need, and also often, when others are not.

                I have vivid recall of mother; sitting against pillows on our ugly teal-green hide-a-bed, lost in a book, never understanding how lost I was, sitting alone on the living room floor. She didn’t pay me much attention when I wanted it. Now, when I don’t, she seems very dutiful.

                I often look back on my childhood, and wonder what it was precisely, that conjured the woman I have become. I’m still not certain of who I am, or what may become of me, but I am sure that there is something having to do with my past that created this thing I am today.  In truth, I am not certain I want to know what that was.

               

                I fancy myself a writer. I am writer with a high vocabulary, but a writer with a keen inability to spell; a writer, nonetheless.  Spelling is overrated.

               

                This page has become something of random thought. Some sort of garble that might make sense later. Right now, it is just a collection of thoughts, to form sentences, that hopefully, will form something worth reading.