I am over halfway to my 543 days of writing finish line, and although there are many days I just don’t feel like it, I am not sure it will end there.
It’s a practice for me, an almost-journal. Of course, it’s not a true, transparent journal, but one anyway. (Trust me, I’m not that interesting.) I’ve never trusted a real tell-all journal anyway. Someone will find it one day and read it to the world. I don’t believe privacy acts continue after someone dies, right? I wouldn’t want the world to know everything. Would you?
Because I write poetry, recipes, property descriptions, and past memories and observations, it could be split into sections and maybe given to the boys one day, or even their children. I picture my granddaughter making something I created, or maybe one of the boys saying, “What did Mom say kept rats away?”
They could refer to my 543 book and find the answer, or maybe even a little comfort. Parents love giving lessons to their young ones.
I do notice that the more controversial posts I write receive the most views, and the ones about Roger are still the favorites of my readers, and that’s natural. Whatever this is for, whatever people get out of it, one day, it could really be a gem for the ones I leave behind. (In a hundred years, of course.)