I would take this down. Needed to vent. But know it will live on in readers so….. A large part of me feels like an idiot for writing this. Spoiled. Not thinking about people who really have it tough. Self-obsessed. I need somebody to yell at me and tell me how horrible I am for writing this. But therein lies the problem…
I put the rest in draft as this was horrible and self-loathing and let’s just blame it on the heat. I’m sweating; not glistening and my face was sweating as I walked into the ocean –something that’s never happened to me before
My reality is that I’m an incurable optimist who thrashes too many things out for too long. I thought I was over that but moving and everything that’s happened in the past three years has brought too much to the surface.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Then I walk four blocks to the beach, actually sit in the fierce gray/brown waves with teal teasing at the horizon and forget everything but how incredible the world is.

I wrote this for Redroom

It’s the first half-decent thing I have written since April.

I don’t believe a disability is an ability turned backwards or whatever that expression is. I have spent my life seeking help. I don’t know how many hundreds of thousands of dollars first my parents then I spent on therapists, testing and much more.

It reached the point where I would write people famed in various disciplines all dealing with either work or mental health or both. Anybody who knows me just a bit knows how hard it is for me to reach out. It’s much easier for me to help others. And I have had career success. It was I who always thought I could do much better even when my evaluations were near perfect.

They either ignored me or told me to find work in a sheltered workshop. I’m more educated than many of them and certainly write as well or better. The later (sheltered workshop) would have killed me and I know that.

So much was happening in my personal life it never occurred to me to look for jobs the normal way, or the way I had before my life became encased in tragedy and uh blogging which for awhile I thought would lead to so much. I had the stats, the readers, the writing–everything but I was “difficult,” not young and trendy. I didn’t blog about one subject. I did everything wrong and yet I created something wonderful and will always be grateful for this blog. I think I tell good stories.

I hope to have years more. While I truly don’t have a desire to write a memoir as I like writing in other forms more, I know that knowledge about non verbal learning disorder (NLD) is lacking. I aim to change that.

Many people with NLD have a difficult time conceptualizing order and I understand that’s what’s been holding me back. Understanding is just part of the solution though. So I found me a great editor!

The long hot summer continues and beginning Friday I will have a house filled with people for a week. I need them–Godchildren and significant others. I feel so lucky that people who are related to me through friendship actually want to visit me!
Comments are off here as once again this is a totally self-centered post.

Last fall I was asked what I was going to give up for boot camp, and health. I gave an appropriate answer.

Lil Red (a brunette that I call Lil Red for other reasons) said she was going to give up the tonic in her gin. She caught me trying not to laugh as everybody applauded. Had she said she was going to give up the gin I would have understood the applause. She doesn’t really drink that much and honey this is the South!
Thus began one of the best friendships I have ever had. She has me in committee after committee.

She’s from New Orleans and moved here for that most satisfactory and not reason–love man love. Tall Husband Suitor (THS) is worth it. I think they’ve made me part of the family!

On the Fourth in 09 I had a barbecue for friends from Atlanta. Then we went to the Cherry Grove fireworks, known as the best on the Grand Strand. This Fourth I went to a barbecue at Lil Red’s and THS’s. I’m not a meat eater but had two small pieces that were incredible and could have converted me if I didn’t spend half my time obsessing about food put into my body.(Have to work on that one.) Fortunately we decided not to go to the fireworks. They started an hour late and weren’t great or so everybody says.

I’m working on getting my mojo back. Moving from everything known and a giant support network that I did take for granted hasn’t been easy. I wasn’t feeling well in June. It wasn’t the weather but a confluence of things such as “this house is really nice. Now where is my city apartment.” I know the move will be worth it, in the long and short run, but will never take people for granted again..

Last night I went to a memorial service in a club. It’s not that I have spent my life wanting to go to memorial services, but yes I have wanted to go to one in a club. People were dancing,talking, crying, looking at slides, listening to music, and as always eating and drinking.

As I have a pivotal birthday in about eleven days, I’m thinking too much about everything that can go wrong–in life, death and everything in between.

This birthday’s making me wish I were a praying person. I’m not so all I can do is throw great thoughts everywhere and hope many good things–if I sound obtuse, well, the book won’t be. I finally understand, and am able to rectify, what’s been holding me back! Or I hope that last sentence is true. I hate being so Woody Allenish. I would settle for Seinfeld but I’m afraid he’s too optimistic for me. Then again…..

So, somewhere in the archives is a sorta transcript of a sorta actual conversation my mother and I had only using the word “so.” We could tell what the other was really saying from each so’s inflection. OK we were a bit extreme but we weren’t alone in using the word “so.”

I’m having a hard time focusing on my memoir and I can’t blame 92 degrees at 7PM. Actually that I can–weather like this makes me hyper. It’s good for house projects. Don’t ask. And don’t ask about my need to drink seltzer with ginger powder. That was an integral part of a post I threw out and means absolutely nothing in this one. Oh the vanity of the long time blogger.

No I have been going through a crisis of “my birthday’s in a month and a few weeks and I haven’t accomplished anything important with my life.” It’s a pivotal birthday. One that makes 50 look like a walk in the park.

I fear that I’m becoming old and my experiences aren’t relevant anymore. That the gist of the stories buried within these pages are sooo yesterday.

I understand why I’m going through this and a lot of it has to do with being burnt. I thought it was almost four years ago that I found out about non verbal learning disorder (nld) but it’s only been going on three years. The same year I decided it was time to get out of Dodge, renovated to sell, sold, bought a house, renovated, lost a lot of my resources, and well….It finally hit me this past month….

I no longer live in Manhattan. As crazy as it made me it was my identity. If I accomplished nothing with my life I was a great New Yorker. Yesterday I saw an ad for menupages and almost began to cry. I consulted it as if it were the bible. With menupages you didn’t need to have ten restaurants on speed dial though of course I did.

It’s different here. I couldn’t really serve my Anna Nicole Smith Trailer Park Dinner, that later became the Anna Nicole Smith Memorial Trailer Park Dinner. I no longer eat hamburgers, wouldn’t serve on the styrofoam containers, and people here are a bit more politically correct in someways or at least more material in very strange ways. The Anna Nicole Smith Memorial Trailer Park Dinner wouldn’t be funny.

OK honestly only Rafe found it funny. Lucia was aghast that I would serve company on styrofoam, but I would use company napkins. Made of paper yet pretty.

Now I use real plates, and cloth napkins and it’s better for the environment but I’m beginning to feel that we’re doomed anyway so why….

I didn’t use these things often in New York as I owned neither a dishwasher nor a washer/dryer. I don’t miss that part. No not at all. Though I’ve been trying to find a clothes line and can’t find one at Wal Mart. I might have to go online. It will be so nice to have clothes dried outdoors.

I like it here. I certainly like being able to walk to the beach when I want or not walk to the beach and read in one of my decks. I like the friends I have made and the friends who are coming.

But Pia doesn’t live in New York anymore, has done absolutely nothing of worth with her life, and was already an adult when her parents, who had children late for then, were her age.

For somebody who has done nothing of worth with my life I’ve done a lot in the past three years and am so mentally fatigued I can’t tell when I’m writing something good or not. This is a half pity party. Half just the truth. I don’t use “so,” on my own. I use “just.” I’m going to stop that. Just as soon as I find what’s left of my mind.

I want to write fiction as I love it but feel a memoir has a much better chance of being published. I’m just so over myself

I didn’t mean this to sound so sad.  I’m attempting to do my taxes for the first time totally by myself.  They’re complicated.  My damn accountant was angry at me last year for sending him my audit during tax season.  Well duh that’s when I got it and it was due 30 days later.  He let it sit for months.  The tax thing is complicating everything in my life right now.  My Dad was a CPA who would have never been angry at a client for….My dad died suddenly at the end of this month 19 years ago.  These couple of weeks always make me sad and trying to do taxes, uh!!!!!

I fear that someday, not soon I hope, I will die and not leave a legacy; no permanent marker, except for a headstone in Mount Hebron Cemetery that reminds the world I was here once.

People will argue that is selfish to want to be remembered.  That if I wanted to be remembered I should have had children for parents did something important.  But not all children are worthy of being remembered by their parents and parents, sometimes, very sadly, outlive children.

Then of course there’s the career legacy.  As somebody who has had three and a half careers, a bunch of newspaper articles published and a five and a half year old blog, I can be remembered for knowing that one career wasn’t enough for a lifetime long before that was fashionable to think.  But many other people can lay claim to that thought also.

They can’t all lay claim to saying some of the things I have said in this blog at the time I did, and I made sure to put in original thoughts. In the 70′s and 80′s before the era of instant communication and social networking,  my sister claimed a New York Times reporter was following me around recording my every thought.  For I would say something and a month or three later an article would be in The Times with the very same thought and/or lines.

I had no faith in myself then.  No belief that I could write for such a newspaper or write an entire book.

Now I’m not sure I can market myself properly.  Just writing this seems so egotistical.  Yet what are most bloggers, Facebookers, and Twitterers doing but trying to make a mark on the world so that they will leave a legacy?  A lot of money is good too.

I have friends who will be remembered for their careers.  Their writing. Their wit.  Their skill and talents in other areas.  And their spouses, kids, grandkids and I’m beginning to feel very small in statute.  I want what they have.  I can’t have the kids and grandkids, that’s impossible and probably not the adoring spouse, but the career….Of course I’m convinced I’m becoming demented so I probably have about two good writing months left…..

For awhile I think I thought I could leave a legacy as a blogger.  It was different three, four years ago.  When you were known, many bloggers knew you.  There weren’t thousands of different groups all competing for bloggers and fame.  There was competitiveness, of course, everything is.  But we knew we were in the earlier days of something bigger then ourselves something that could change communication.  Then came Twitter.   It’s all too much for me.

Friends are having grandchildren.  I’m glad for them, so excited sometimes you have no idea, but a bit sad for me as I will never know that feeling.

My book is that most egotistical of genres, a memoir, but I do think I have a more interesting than most story to tell. One I won’t go into here as everybody who reads this blog knows it.  If you know me through Facebook you don’t really know it.

You don’t know that I’m much more than a collection of symptoms.  Hey, I met John Gotti and lived to talk about it.  That will always be one of my favorite stories sick as it is and it’s very sick.  It’s me, girl who couldn’t keep her Marilyn dress from doing a Marilyn.  In my memories I have short blond hair, and big red lips.  In reality I had long red hair done 40′s style or maybe I had cut it recently to just shoulder length with volume but not big–it was the last year of the 80′s.  My lips might have been red but they were never big.

That’s not one of my best stories just one of my favorites.  I don’t know what my best stories are.  I have no way of judging my own work.  I no longer have any semblance of a site meter so I have no way of gauging what pages are peoples favorites.

I did that on purpose.  The whole get-to-love-me-through-social-media frenzy sickened me.  I had come early to the party.  Too early as I didn’t realize I was supposed to have a plan, enough energy to spend the hours I wasn’t exercising or writing on social media activities.  I had done that with blogging solely because I’m obsessive and I was burnt out as I burn out of everything.

I’m vain.  Oh so vain I think the story of not knowing I had non verbal learning disorder and living anyway is a good story.  I spent my late teen, 20′s and 30′s being adorable, looking like a generic soap star, and I worked hard.  I confused my bosses who couldn’t understand that the spacey klutzy but adorable girl did such complex excellent work.

Then I broke down.  Though I did brilliantly in social work school I don’t think my work ever equaled the work I did in my 20′s to 37.  Maybe it was the medication.  More likely it was still not knowing what was wrong with me and being more aware since I broke down, had the testing, and found out I was supposed to be incapable of just about everything.  I had always believed in myself before underneath it all.  Always believed that tomorrow I would understand more.  Tomorrow there would be magical answers.

The answers weren’t magical.  There was some relief in knowing at first but then there was anger.  I’m still working it out.  And that’s the problem.  A book needs a happy or tragic ending and I don’t plan on giving it a tragic ending.  I want the happy one.

My life is good.  Very good.  But is buying, all on my own without help from one person, a house, and almost gut renovating it a good enough ending?  Even if girl has problems that should preclude her from being proud of this?

Is girl coming to a city where she knew almost anybody at a stage in life when almot nobody moves except unhappily for a job or for grandchildren, and forging a life for herself, a happy ending?

Actually now that I read the above two paragraphs I realize that it’s just as happy an ending as girl meets boy.  This hasn’t been Ozzie & Harriet’s world for sometime.

Or maybe I’m being defensive.  And what I think are accomplishments are nothing important really.

I recognize and accept that somethings in my life will always be impossible for me to do.  I understand I will have to spend the rest of my life explaining why I don’t drive; that hardware and learning things such as HTML might as well be advanced physics and calculus.

But damn when I pay for things I want them to work.  I don’t want to spend a year staring at an incredibly beautiful shower that cost thousands of dollars plus I bought a new water heater for more pressure when the pressure is abysmal.  I use the upstairs shower I spent nothing on.  Then the plumber caused floods after he told me I had pin hole floods.  The floods were a few days later and he didn’t return my calls for days.  Said he didn’t have my numbers.  I know I left them but maybe he didn’t get them.

I want the netflick DVD player to work–after two tech calls that did cost me money.  I don’t want the cable company to constantly tell me “it’s your TV” when I had the Geek Squad come and check it out.

Getting things done properly costs money and I’m willing to spend the money but only if everything works when finished or after the service call.

I guess it’s time to face facts.  Do the techs really work or decide that I’m a ditz and therefore…?  Does the plumber feel no responsibility for causing floods, that cost me almost a thousand to fix?  I’m not even talking about the pressure because I’m a single woman who has non verbal learning disabilities (NLD)?   It might be an invisible disability but sometimes I feel that I wear a sign around my head “ditz,” “idiot,” “don’t take her seriously.”

Not having the social problems that so many people with NLD have might make it worse because I don’t expect to be treated poorly.  And, honestly, lately I can’t tell if I’m experiencing a series of stupid problems that anybody would experience–and be bitchier than I am being, threaten to sue–maybe even go through with the law suit. Or are these problems specific to me?

I can watch the movies on my computer but why did I buy a TV and DVD player then?  Am I wrong for caring?  And damn I want that shower working properly.  It’s Eldon’s responsibility and I told him I don’t want to involve him in a law suit but he didn’t spend the money nor does he spend a half hour a day staring at a thing of beauty that just can’t get itself it together.

In 91 my father went to the big poker game in the sky.  In 01 my mother went somewhere not here.

You hope they reunited but your mother wasn’t betting on it.  You think they had some kind of Houdini signal he was supposed to send her if there was something up there and some way of communicating.  Houdini and his wife made up a signal.  If there was an afterlife she would know because she would receive his signal.  It never happened.  You don’t know the signal but you know the story because your father was into levitating tables and Ouija boards and more.  Your mother made him stop.  Still you think she wanted the signal more than anything in later life.

You don’t want to say you have a fear of years ending in “1″ because that sounds so wimpy. And people will assume you’re scared of another 9/11.  You’re more scared of the idiots who blamed Obama for the last miss.  Big difference between 8/06/01 memo sitting on Bush’s desk and officials who did screw up but weren’t in the Oval Office.  Not that you think Obama’s perfect but Bush didn’t inherit two wars, “the worst recession since….,” and all the fallout.  He helped cause all that.

You don’t want to say you’re confused about the past decade; it had certain incredible highs and lows like you have never experienced and hope never to experience again.

You hate the way people waffle around 9/11 or make it Todd Beamer Appreciation Day.   Most of it happened in New York and that should be always acknowledged.  Not that you’re not appreciative of Todd Beamer.   But that day really did change your life because your mother became so addled, yet not addled enough to require emergency measures.  The day she fell and died not just added to your guilt meter but made it run so fast the guilt company couldn’t keep with it and therefore demanded their overdue payment much later in the decade.

How can you complain when there are so many people with less than nothing?  You don’t want to say that your addiction to HGTV has made you cynical.  Sometimes people put down substantial down payments but other times they put down five percent or work out arrangements so that the mortgage and/or second mortgage covers 100%.  How can they call themselves homeowners?  They’re renting from the bank.  You couldn’t understand this in the 90′s; you find it unbelievable today.

You’re far from perfect.  You have an unnatural fear that the above belief will cause you to lose everything you have.   Bad Karma.  And Karma is everything to you.

You did big things last year–well beginning in 07.  You sold an apartment and bought and renovated a house.  It is a big deal and yet you say “piece of cake.” “If I could do this anybody could.”

But not everybody has a disability that causes many people to give up completely, live off other people, work in sheltered workshops despite having multiple degrees.  Of course you’re on the highest end of this spectrum.  Sort of like having  a “bit of Asperger’s.”

Still you never knew.  You worked and worked your tush off in your 20′s and 30′s while living in an apartment that was totally unrenovated and required constant care. Your neighborhood was store unfriendly.  One of the happiest days of your life was the day a Duane Reade opened five blocks from your apartment.  You would get there at eight on Saturday mornings–the only time it wasn’t packed and buy cleaning supplies and much more.

You’re obsessively clean now because you couldn’t be then. You thought it was a combination of laziness and living in an old old apartment that was party central.

Your father thought you could be the neatest person in the world if you only tried.  Your father was always yelling.  Always telling you how great you could be if only….He didn’t know and by the time he realized (after the damn testing) he only had a few years left.  Your father was your greatest admirer and your greatest foe.  You should probably be in therapy for life just to understand that relationship.

A friend was just saying he found Elizabeth Gilbert’s story banal because he knows you and you went to Europe by yourself many times and have overcome much greater odds than Gilbert will ever know.  He actually called you a “hero.”  That was so sweet.  Actually he said “you’re much more of a hero than she is.”  But…

And so a new year begins.  You never make resolutions.  You have accomplishments you want to make happen.  You’ll work your tush off to make them happen.  But if they don’t…..You do have one resolution.  Stop using the word “actually” constantly.

Here’s a link to an article I wrote for The Long Island Press’s award winning series: Our Children’s Brains.  Of everything I did this past decade this article was personally the most meaningful.  If I increased awareness of non verbal learning disorder (NLD) just a bit then I did a lot.

I meant to end the year decade with a salute to bloggers because I think we’re at the forefront of a major revolution in communication.  Without blogging there really couldn’t have been Facebook.  Without Facebook there couldn’t have been Twitter.   I don’t know whether I fear or look forward to what comes next.

I began this decade, and I believe decades truly begin when something significant happens, in deep agony.  True the Trade Center had imploded and my mother died suddenly the next month but it was more than that.  I felt as if I were losing my grip on sanity.  I didn’t know about NLD then.  Had I known when I was a decade younger, ha, the worlds I might have conquered.

But I have to remember that I put this blog together and if I have been harping on its former glory lately it’s because it opened doors I never knew existed.

I became friendly with Bone over four years ago.  His writing amazed me and still does.  He keeps getting better.  But it was Bone the person who helped change me.  When we became friendly I realized that I didn’t have to fear the South.

My first three days visiting here I was more than a bit scared.  Actually it rained the first two days and I was glad I could bring my incredible rain making skills to a then drought stricken area.  (Not glad I have that talent now as this is shaping up to be the rainiest December on record.)

The third day I ventured out and nobody bit me.  North Myrtle, so familiar now, seemed like another country.  I knew the New York metro area, South Florida, parts of New England and California.

This is a new world.  My world now and I go into a new decade knowing I can face whatever comes.  I might be a decade older and one of the oldest known bloggers but that never stopped me….

I thank you all who have taken this journey or parts of it with me.

I wrote a truly long post because I began as a long winded self-absorbed blogger.  I’m going through the blog one post at a time.  Not a fun project, but I must do it.  Again I thank Cooper the magnificent.

Courting’s undergone and still undergoing major retuning.

Last week I watched Julie and Julia.  I’ve never been a Meryl person.  I have always appreciated her brilliance but many of her performances have left me feeling nothing.  I watched Mama Mia with eyes and mouth wide open amazed that she would subject herself to that role when I seriously doubt she needs money and her kids aren’t in the pivotal ten to fourteen year old range that would love the movie.  Abba is a band that has always reminded me of the worst of pop.  No it’s not even pop.

Her performance was a revelation.  She not just captured Julia Child but made me love her.  Stanley Tucci!  Wow. He made a little, ugly to be honest, man into one of the sexiest men I have ever seen.  I was captivated.

I have read a lot about how Julie’s (Amy Adams) story was horrible but I’m a blogger and in some ways it could have been my story.  These are the exceptions:  Amanda Hesser of The Times went to her house for dinner.   The book taken from the blog  turned into a best seller.  The subsequent movie was one of the top movies of the year.  And she wrote a new memoir about the affairs she was having during that time that did almost ruin the movie for me as she and her husband seemed so solidly together.

Oh yes we have so much in common.

When I began Courting I didn’t realize people read blogs.  She knew more, and knew enough to have a theme but at first didn’t know if anybody was reading. When her husband read that she was the third most read blog at Salon, they called the people “fans.”  When I became the most read blog at that place we don’t talk about it I called the people who read “readers.”

She felt obligated to post everyday.  My readers know my verbal diarrhea though it has tapered off. Somebody from The Christian Science Monitor called her.  Somebody called me.  You can see we have a tremendous amount in common. She was coming up to her 30′s.  I was in that place called “used to be 30something when it was on.”

It’s not that I’m ashamed of my age.  I’m just so darn immature that I have a hard time believing I’m going to be 60.  Therefore all my friends have been on notice for months they better come up with one giant celebration because it is an age to celebrate.

Julie got nasty comments. Blogs were begun just to diss me.  But hey any publicity….Not frigging true.

Unlike Julie I didn’t get a book contract.   But my life changed as dramatically.  As much as I talked about moving from New York I was scared.  I know New York.  New York knows me.  We went together like seltzer and vanilla syrup in egg creams which contain no eggs, but seltzer, syrup and milk.  I have an incredible support system in New York.  Yes I had been living the life so many dream of down to the luxe doorman building in the heart of the Upper West Side.

But my dreams had changed.  I knew to continue living the life I lived I needed more space in a way less pricey place.  I didn’t count on a house.  That never entered my radar until I found North Myrtle Beach and realized I was capable of buying, renovating (not with my own hands) and maintaining a house.  My house isn’t architecturally significant.  I could get a lot more house that has higher ceilings, is fancier, and has more room for much less money just across 17 but it wouldn’t be a five minute walk to the beach or a two minute walk to the center of town.  My house has decks, lots of decks and I love decks.  It thrills me to sit outside in the middle of the night looking at stars.  It thrills me to be able to run to the beach for just a few minutes whenever.

I haven’t been a “good” blogger these past three years and I’m not just talking quality.  Too much was happening in my “real” life to seek out new blogs, to make new blogging friends.  Julie didn’t have to comment, email, chat up people.  I’m not saying that all that is bad.  It was difficult for reasons my readers are all too aware of.  The problems I had were all interrelated (something I had intuitively known) had a name, and I operated at a level where I had compensated for almost everything.

Blogging brought the problems back. I couldn’t master the computer language of blogging, HTML.  I couldn’t blog socialize as much as many people wanted yet I couldn’t set limits.  I political blogged long after I knew it wasn’t healthy for me.  When I found out about NLD I began to take charge of my life.  Yet I had never felt “disabled” before.

Damn I was smart.  I had been eligible to skip grades but my parents didn’t believe in that.  People always took me for bright.  Yes I had gone through this before but blogging once so great for me began to make me feel like a collection of symptoms.  It’s not OK to have a space to pour your heart out into, unedited.  Since I generally wouldn’t talk about my friends in the present, blogging about NLD filled up space and let me vent.  Something I probably needed to do.  But will never know if the venting led to feeling worse.  I very much believe in the power of positive thinking, and not dwelling on problems, yet….Did it have to be so public?  I love having less Google entries.

So I lost readers, didn’t court new ones, and do you know how many blogs have begun in the past three years?  Many millions.  When I was “on top,” I think there grew to be sixty million.  I alone had five.

Yet it was the greatest feeling in the world in the beginning.  People read me!  People who weren’t classmates or relatives.  An illustrator/cartoonist said to me: “you have the feedback I have always craved.”  I was shocked as I’ve known him all my life and thought he was a person who shunned the spotlight.  And he makes mucho money.  But I knew what he meant.  There’s nothing like that first feeling of wonder; of going to a from “blogger to writer” seminar knowing I had a higher Technorati rating than the speakers.  Yes of course I looked.  I was hung up on stats then.  I have always resented that title.  I was a writer a long time before I was a blogger.

I didn’t know how to handle that recognition.  It came out of nowhere and at times, many times, felt undeserved. At times it made me want to jump up and down with joy.  Other times I wanted to ask people if they knew who I was.  Like they cared. I lived in New York where everybody really does have their fifteen minutes or their best friend did.  Everybody was famous for something real. Not having a money losing blog.  Everybody was younger and better looking than me.  I take that last one back.  But I had begun to feel that I was living in a theme park and I just ain’t a Disney or Rouse production person.

My life was unsettled.  Maybe I will never have that recognition again but hey, I’m prepared for anythng.  I’m settled now.  Everything I have done in the past three years has been to improve my life.

So Julie went onto fame and fortune and I went on to home ownership.  OK she’s lived my dream.  My dream didn’t die.  It went on hiatus.  The long drawn out saga is over, and the fun’s about to begin.  Stay tuned.

My next posts will be at the max half this length.  As usual I reserve the right to change my mind.

This article’s on the death of old media as exemplified by a party Tina Brown gave. Now she has The Daily Beast which I read.

A lot of bloggers went to its launch party. Not this one. I don’t feel very blogger like. Nor do I feel very writer like.

I’m coming face to face with who I am. Smashing head first into the giant thunder cloud she was lost for two decades. Or so some think. Not really. This blog will be five years old next week which isn’t really an achievement but I gave up being a multi award nominated reporter for it.

Not really again. I couldn’t go any further at that particular paper for the most personal of reasons and being me didn’t apply anywhere else–or send in clippings. I have two books and should scan them in but first I have to set up my whole office so that my life can easily be found and one of the bad side affects of going off this med is that I’m ADD’d to the max. No frigging patience for anything boring and most of life is. Though I can clean….and water plants if it ever stops raining.

Tomorrow there is only a 20% chance of rain and I’m going to the beach–the four blocks I live from it? It’s four long blocks when you take a chair and something to drink, maybe something to eat, and a book–hard covered or trade paper, of course.

I’m not doing well if I’m trying to prepare for a lifetime of poverty, but I’m betting on me, to come through for me, as if I don’t who will?