I wrote.

For the last few nights, when my husband gets home from work, he asks about my day and when I say that I did nothing it's always followed by the question, "Did you write today?"  Well finally  I can say, "Yes."  Granted, it is nothing that would be published (sometimes I forget that I'm a published poet), but it's a start. 

I wrote something.

An exercise:

When I was in high school my English teacher did an exercise

where we were told to put pencil to paper and to not take it off for a good while,

we were just supposed to write whatever came to mind

which made for a lot of rambling and I’m pretty sure some of us ended up

with a scribbled string of, “Blah, blah, blahs.”  

Well, now I’m wishing that I had those scrap pieces of paper somewhere.

Wouldn’t it be neat to look back at those messy ramblings of high-school-me, the

works of someone who didn’t have a clue in the world how life

would be later on and those thoughts might inspire me to

write something brilliant now.

Exercise over.