I just finished my morning coffee and I’m thinking about things I have planned this weekend. The writing group is meeting and another group is starting to work through The Artist’s Way. My mind wandered to morning pages, blog posts and why do I write. Do I really want to write? I used to keep journals until I read through some of my mom’s when she passed. I don’t want to leave daily rantings and bitching behind for my family to read and think “Wow, was she really this unhappy?” I systematically started shredding mine, although there may still be a few left in my closet. I need to shred those as well.
I guess I need to remember I’m NOT my mom. But I’m probably more like her than I want to admit.
As I was pondering journals and posts, I realized I have 30 mins before I need to get ready for work – why not just write a blog post. I grab my little Chromebook that is drying to bleed cyan and here I am. I’m not sure where my train of thought was going. It seemed like a good substantial post until I started typing. Now I’m not sure what my point was.
I need more coffee but I’m out of creamer. I haven’t yet developed a taste for black coffee.
I guess I can count this as a stream of thought writing, although it’s not in longhand in a spiral notebook. I did have a point to make before I sat down to write. I should really work on drafts in Word before posting.