We had a nice break from the harsh cold for a couple of weeks but today are reminded it is a winter predicted to be very cold. The wind chill is 27 degrees the real temp being just under 10 degrees warmer than that. Much better, I realize than a lot of places but still about 15 degrees below our average for January.
I am sitting here waiting for my hair to dry enough to go outside. (I prefer not to use a blow dryer in the winter if I can help it; as it drys my hair out. I actually prefer to use one sparingly anyway as it is not supposed to be real good for ones' hair at all.) It occurred to me that since I am waiting for my hair to dry I could write a blog post, major revelation no? I don't know I don't write more, it's not like I don't have anything to say. I just can't seem to get up the gumption to actually try to organize what I have to say into something readable.
The mantra A writer writes every day flows through my mind frequently and is a source of self recrimination for me. I actually will correct people who call me a writer because I don't write every day. I accede to being called a poet; though feel that is not really right either; for I cannot recite to you anything I have written; nor can I recite the works of others.
I guess I fear if I have the label then I must accept that I have squandered a beautiful gift; more guilt is not something I need.
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