I have promised myself that I will write it all out, for myself, principally. I need to declutter, to generate space for memories to stretch themslevesand so that optimism, that smallest of seeds, can germinate.
By writing my life down I will allow fresh air to reach the corners that are camouflaged by cobwebs and dust, dirt and decay, lost buttons and scraps.
It is an unremarkable life, but maybe upon examination I will find a treasure or two. If nothing else I can lay out events and clear space for what is still to come.
I cannot imagine that it will emerge in any sort of order for there is so much that it will spill from me like jumble from an overstuffed cupboard. Maybe the sorting will come later, but then again, maybe not.
This is not therapy, merely housekeeping - an exercise in de-fragging my hard drive.
This book is currently empty.
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