To bring all the pages into xhtml compliance I’ve had to go through and edit most of the old posts. I had to correct a lot of mistakes.
Some of the errors were caused by the import. Most of them were caused because I didn’t know what I was doing.
I’m a slow learner.
Going back through them, of course I had to re-read bits and pieces.
Boy, it makes my life seem miserable.
It makes it sound like my only bright spot is my puppy.
My little puppy is the bright spot in my life but my life is not all that grim. I’m fairly certain it hasn’t been.
There’s been my share of tragedy, personal hardship and squalor. The squalor sticks in my mind deeper than most traumas.
There have been bright spots. Many.
I recall them as moments of sunshine glistening off of lawns, off of fields of snow, off of little fur.
I remember hearing from people who have touched my life, telling me how I touched them.
I sure remember laughing a lot more than I read about.
I didn’t write enough, or remember at the time the people who’ve been a small part of my life. The people who’ve come into my life with the greatest gifts, conversation and understanding and the stories of how they make it from day to day.
As I fixed the errors in the code I made certain not to change anything. Not to delete anything. Not to rewrite the past to fit the present or make for a safer future.
I wanted to at times. I wanted to correct my amazing amount of typos so I would look quite so not dumb maybe. I just neatened up the code.
I wanted to put in big sections like “Life was horrid.” BUT A LITTLE GIRL OFFERED ME A BITE OF HER SANDWICH. Or “Man, this stinks.” BUT THAT AFTERNOON A TOOTHLESS WOMAN SMILED AT ME AND TOLD ME A JOKE IN SPANISH.
I’m glad I’m keeping a journal. It makes it easier to remember not only what’s been written but to remember what I’ve nearly forgotten. Things that shouldn’t be forgotten because those things are always about people.
It reminds me to do things now that I should have done even then. Not big things, but all the little things we always forget. Because our lives are too important to ourselves and we think we have to protect ourselves in the clinches. I write too much about puppies. Then I think I should have written more.
I don’t write enough about my friend. I know the reason why and I don’t care for it but I know its out of my control. The crazies and the vengeful.
I’m glad this thing is public. It helps keeps me ruthless in examining myself. Knowing there’s always someone out there willing to correct a lapse in memory.
I’m glad its public because it’s like, well, I used to explain to guys that sometimes when an old friend, ex-friend calls you in the middle of the night its not to re-kindle some smoldering romance. Its because, when two people get close and expose each others soul to the other its a closeness people can’t ever escape or regret. Sometimes there’s a concern, sometimes the concern is born of a nightmare or a song on the radio.
All they want to know is that your not dead and that part of each other that burned for a while is truly immortal, that part the two of you shared.
This does that for me. Quietly and invisibly. Transparently.
The other things I read was all about football, and I realized I sure don’t know much about making NFL picks!
When I read some of the things I said about teams in the past . . . it was embarrassing.
I would never make a good psychic.
Like I only got 3 picks right out of 4 this weekend. Which fits my 80% average okay. Its just that my reasoning is sometimes . . . stupid.
I’ll keep making those stupid assertions though because one day I’ll be right. Odds say I have to be.