Although I venture out in the world daily, and encounter many people and witness many encounters, I have not written in ages, and I think in a writer's world, decades. Allow me to catch up on some encounters:

I started reading to a senior who resides within a nursing home with his wife. He is over ninety years of age, and simply one of the sweetest people I have met. He sits in his wheelchair, facing me, and I read the headlines from the newspaper, carefully skipping the news about rape and murder. I don't think I am protecting him, but myself, from having to actually say those words in front of such a nice human being. He is cognitively well, and I do not know what experience left him bound to his chair. I do have to admit, as much as I adore him, I worry throughout my entire visit that he will have a stroke. This is a symptom of my paranoia.

The swine flu is making me sick. Fortunately, I have not actually been plagued with it, at least not literally. I am very scared of the flu in general, yet I cannot explain why. I am a healthy adult, who takes in plenty of antioxidants and gets plenty of exercise, so I know the flu won't kill me. I am so paranoid about getting it though, I actually despise people who are sick and near me. At the salon where I work, I am constantly in the line of fire- that is, people coughing in my face and telling me their ill-fated stories regarding their encounter with the flu. My extreme efforts (taking Airborne, washing my hands for at least twenty seconds, wiping down everything with Clorox wipes, checking my temperature several times a day despite the absence of any symptoms), are really taking over. Maybe this is a control issue for me.

During my Thanksgiving gatherings, I was ignored by a child who was intent on watching the football game, claiming his male standpoint. I finally gave up trying to talk to him, and offered to get him something to snack on, to which he replied, "That would be good," without peeling his eyes from the television. They start early these days, which only proves to me that this behavior may simply be inborn.

There have been more, but it is unfair for me to create an enormous post in a selfish attempt to prove to myself that I am a dedicated writer. I need to strength to write everyday. I need to make the time.