Unsure

Does the title refer to unsureness about the title or about what I'm to write, or my life...or what I'm having for dinner?

Yes.

So far, my insignificant little blog hath not drawn the attention of Fundies, Bushites, and like radicals. (Here I must pause to knock on wood.) There is some happiness in being unknown.

Dammit, I had a dozen thoughts before I sat down and suddenly I'm hit by a huge yawning fit and cannot remember…I have this bizarre little theory about those sudden lapses in memory. Perhaps we have just morphed into an alternate plane and whatever chemicals formed that memory are altered, or maybe a past life progression eclipses the current one or, it's just because I'm in much deeper denial about menopause than I care to admit.

Damn. I cannot seem to stop yawning! I’ve dropped Diet Cokes pretty much cold turkey, along with the afternoon bit of chocolate. The chocolate, in very small doses, I plan to add back, but the Diet Coke, aka “Evil in a Can,” will stay gone. Talking about it has started the jonesing….*sighs*

One of the thoughts I had came back to me just now. I’m always considered myself a writer, and I suppose, at one time I was a rather good one. But like any skill, talent, art, you must use it, or lose it. I read some of my favorite blogs, LL’s, Jane’s, and Sylvan’s, and realize I’m no longer capable of turning a phrase like I used to be. My histories and stories for PWs (persistent worlds, for any of you who are not gamers) get rave reviews, but the mundane, expository thing has atrophied. It’s getting easier to pour it out now that I’ve started blogging, but at times I reread it and think, who IS this sophomoric woman?

There might be a break in thought here, I have to save this to my jump drive and make the jump to hyperspace to get home (gods, I wish I could!).

Okay, some time later, we return to the scene of the crime….

One of the things I was thinking about is this, the diary of some woman going from her dyed hair to grey. Good gods, I thought I was being too egocentric when I tossed the idea around for 20 minutes and then asked a couple of people what they thought. I went to my stylist that Saturday and said…cut it off, take it back to the color line—it was grown out a little over an inch at the time. Over the weekend badaboom! I went from the look at the top of the page, to a chubby Jamie Lee Curtis look. No looking back, no agonizing, no…oh, gee, let’s do it so no one will notice shit. It’s hair, you don’t like it, you change it. And here I thought I was being vain. HA! I love validation. In the end she looks gorgeous, but 13 months!! Oh, hell no.