Starting Somewhere

I am at once anxious and excited to return to this blog. I fear my hiatus has morphed into a cessation and I've forgotten how to write. Which of course is absurd. I start with one word. Then another. Until I've formed a coherent thought.

It isn't really that I fear the words won't come. I have words. (And see, I've already made a paragraph). It's that I fear ...

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Oh no, let's go!

In true "start-as-you-mean-to-go-on" fashion, I went for a run today. This happens every New Year's Eve. I dust of my sneakers and vow that THIS will be the year I stick with it. And not just running. I have a list. If I showed you my diary entries from December 31st for the last dozen or so years, you'd see the same dozen or so items on this list. I'm sure I'm not the only one who writes a "how I'm going to be a better human" list once a year. (tell me I'm not!?)

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save a tree, read a blog!

I'm sure I am responsible for at least an acre of Amazonian deforestation with all the half-finished journals I have lying around my house. Here's the thing, it's fun to start new projects. And new journals are especially thrilling those of us who write (or want to write). But so often, ideas get moldy and the fruit flies start swarming, until it's easier just to throw the whole thing out and wait for the next stroke of inspiration. 

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empty desks

So I snuck off by myself. Wandering slowly between the wide-ruled paper and the rubber erasers. Running my fingers over the pencil pouches and wondering when he would need a compass or a protractor. Remembering my own new binders and PeeChee folders. The fresh smells of a new classroom and an empty desk, waiting to be filled, and to hold me for a year.

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