Bluesday
Dearest,
Back to work today {sigh}, I think I hate going to work. I need to be retrained, I even forgot the password for my phone, how embarrassing. It was so tiring, In some ways I feel that I accomplish more just sitting around the shanty. Someone suggested that I write at a more elementary level to enhance the general understanding of my posts to you. I do not think that I can do that. I think it would cramp my style. I can not write that way. I can not do it! It is bad enough that I type like a monkey with a stick. it is bad enough that I can not spel. I know if you were reading this you'd be laughing. That was, as I know you know, the point.
(Abigail edited a number of childrens' books, we are of different philosophies on the subject. My position is that they should be simple enough to be understood but not so simple as not to be challenging. ( Ha! parse that sentence structure!) If the books don't make them ask questions and look up words they're not challenging enough.)
I am doing some better the last few days. I do find myself slipping into inane reveries. Questioning every thing, even what I am doing at the moment. This is probably the silliest post I have ever done for you. Or am I doing it for me? I think that I might be doing more and more things just for me. Is that wrong? You're not here anymore. I'm tired of feeling sorry for myself, tired of crying, tired of feeling bad. No matter how good I feel though there is a part of me that is still sad. It's something that I carry around with me, something that is now a part of me, I guess forever. You used to tell me that I was sad underneath. Now I really am, it's like gravity, can't see it, can't smell it, can't get away from it. Have to go to work again tomorrow too. Can you imagine? Like one day of that isn't enough.
Till Tomorrow's Tragedy, Your Ken
Back to work today {sigh}, I think I hate going to work. I need to be retrained, I even forgot the password for my phone, how embarrassing. It was so tiring, In some ways I feel that I accomplish more just sitting around the shanty. Someone suggested that I write at a more elementary level to enhance the general understanding of my posts to you. I do not think that I can do that. I think it would cramp my style. I can not write that way. I can not do it! It is bad enough that I type like a monkey with a stick. it is bad enough that I can not spel. I know if you were reading this you'd be laughing. That was, as I know you know, the point.
(Abigail edited a number of childrens' books, we are of different philosophies on the subject. My position is that they should be simple enough to be understood but not so simple as not to be challenging. ( Ha! parse that sentence structure!) If the books don't make them ask questions and look up words they're not challenging enough.)
I am doing some better the last few days. I do find myself slipping into inane reveries. Questioning every thing, even what I am doing at the moment. This is probably the silliest post I have ever done for you. Or am I doing it for me? I think that I might be doing more and more things just for me. Is that wrong? You're not here anymore. I'm tired of feeling sorry for myself, tired of crying, tired of feeling bad. No matter how good I feel though there is a part of me that is still sad. It's something that I carry around with me, something that is now a part of me, I guess forever. You used to tell me that I was sad underneath. Now I really am, it's like gravity, can't see it, can't smell it, can't get away from it. Have to go to work again tomorrow too. Can you imagine? Like one day of that isn't enough.
Till Tomorrow's Tragedy, Your Ken
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