Porthole

Do I dare write: Dear me... you're dead?

I commented to Brian K Compton :

"When I started [here at WDC] I was just so glad that I found a place to put what I was working on. When people actually began reading my blog... I was hooked. But looking ahead? By 2010, Blogville was Ghosttown as many went to Open Salon or Spacebook and then Tweeter. But Open Salon closed down and Spacebook was never set up for writers, more for Me-me-me and then became Click-Meme and Fakebook. Tweeter became infamous Shit-Fling. So who knows about 2030... no way to know. By then I [may] be traveling to Mars or pushing up mutant mushrooms in the Nuclear-Wasteland formerly know as Montana."

I post this because ... it seemed to flow! Oh how I can wax poetic when it doesn't matter!

I've entered a couple contests. Silly me... in two weeks I'll be in Taiwan.

So before I leave, I need to write a "Dear Me" letter for the WDC contest. It will start:

"Dearest,

You're dead.

You'll only be remembered for what connections outlive your flesh... so make them now. Yes, I know you've tried. Make more. Not just awards and acclamations... those are cheap. The real gold is to be found in those postcards you sent from faraway places, the poems you wrote for someone, the hugs you gave when they were needed..."

And so on. My familial expiration date is 2034, but recently I've doubted that. My depression can overwhelm and I've neglected my health; and well... time wears away bones and all good intentions.

This is my second blog entry for today...

Stuck it here because there was no better place to stick it!

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