A Writing Experiment

Thank you all for your recent replies. I've been more than a little "out of pocket" but hope to catch up with you all very soon.

Thanks again for sharing...

:kiss:


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Upon the New Year

This time of year, I do a lot of soul searching and evaluation. We joke about New Year's resolutions and giggle about diet plans. However, here are some questions:

What are your goals for this year?
What were your goals in years past?
Did you achieve them?
If not, what prevented you from achieving them?



Be well all!
 
Re: Upon the New Year

MissTaken said:
This time of year, I do a lot of soul searching and evaluation. We joke about New Year's resolutions and giggle about diet plans. However, here are some questions:

What are your goals for this year?
First - Be Happy as possible with what IS.
Second - Quit smoking. Only 3 cigarettes since last Midnight - and The Patch is in place

What were your goals in years past?
Don't remember, actually.
Did you achieve them?
Sometimes, I think?
If not, what prevented you from achieving them?
Attitude & self-abuse. :D
Be well all!
I shall endeavour to DO so! :kiss:
 
Writing prompt: I don't remember...

I don't remember ever seeing my father wear shorts.

I'm sure he must have worn them - at least when we went swimming - but I can't remember it. Not to cut the grass, not at family picnics, not at Disney World.

I guess the first time I really ever saw his legs was in the hospital after his accident. They were so pale and thin - thrashing around under the white hospital sheets. He didn't seem to be my father then. He didn't know me or why I was there. Pain and confusion were all he felt.

I saw him as a broken man - not my father. This person was not the man I knew. My heart was breaking - that he could find himself so dependent on others, so lost. So not in contol.

It was frightening. Maybe that loss of control, even MY loss of control over the situation - maybe that was the worst part. Daddy is always in control - even losing his temper is a rare thing.

He was such a stranger then - so foreign to me and my sisters. We would whisper about his condition, trying to fit the pieces of information together to see if it were possible for there to be "a good outcome." The doctor's favorite phrase - "good outcome."

That stranger lying there - naked, feverous, confused - that man was my father. And the fear that he would remain like that - a stranger - was greater than the fear he would die.
 
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