I am trying to work out how to blog and the strangest thing is my husband, who is wearing a very vivid bright orange shirt, is showing me how he thinks I should do it. He can’t change the time in the car. He keeps grabbing the laptop and being very patient as he looks at all the options. It’s the patience that kills me. The mindlessness of not hitting random keys and seeing what’s going to happen. He just holds the computer looks and thinks. No button touching, no swearing, no muttering under his breath.
I’m going to try and post every week. Just to get my head around this technology and see, down the track, if anyone is listening besides my mother. I am in the editing process of writing my book. To the uninitiated, which I was until recently, I am in the final stages. But it means re-reading, re-writing, thinking hard, about a single sentence, a phrase used in conversation, an action. I think the precision, the rigor is good for me.
My family have been very good dealing with a mother, wife, human being, who is often physically present and yet still cavorting in her own head. I walk around the house with characters and motivations and meanings and whys and whynots tumbling around in my head. Then I have to snap out of it and find a shoe.
It’s Tuesday, so I will write my column for the SMH this week and await my notes for my book from the editor.