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I admit that I have always been one of those girls who wanted to know why…just explain it to me…make it make sense…and then I’ll happily comply…well…maybe…okay…probably not…but make it make sense anyway…
Growing up…Mama had some rather nebulous rules even though they came with built in explanations…like…wear clean underwear…you might be in a wreck…so the jaws of life operator was gonna check for skid marks in my skivvies before pulling me out of a smoldering car…
Okay…I don’t wear actual skivvies…but it sounded better than panties…just setting the record straight…geez…
There were other rules that made even less sense…like…(sorry Mama)…clean your plate…there are starving children in China…never did understand the logic to that…shouldn’t I be wrapping up the leftovers and mailing them to those kids instead of eating all the Brussels sprouts myself…
I think you get the picture…I like things to make sense…to have a purpose…
So here I am…I’ve blogged all month…and I still don’t know just exactly why I’m doing it…I just keep getting this sense that writing is what I’m supposed to be doing…could be because Bertha keeps pounding me on the head with the keyboard…saying…write…write…write
And while that is motivating…in and of itself…there’s that part of me that wants to know…what’s in it for me…I mean for real…is Oprah finally gonna discover me through my blog…am I going to become rich and famous…what…whatwhat…
Bertha asked me how I feel when I write…and my answer was…I feel good…clever…creative…I feel happy…alive…I love to play with words…I feel delightful…
Bertha smiled…and isn’t that reason enough…and I have to admit…it makes more sense than the underwear or the leftovers…so…I’m writing…
Jane