I just wrote an entry that I needed you to read, the collective and individual you. It was a confession, a journey, a story of humanity. I wrote it here in diaryland and not in MSWord like I usually do. It did not save. It is gone. I feel the pain of it's loss in a way that I shouldn't.
I don't have ability to "bring it from the ashes" and i put those in quotes because that's part of what the entry was about, but it was so much more and it needed to be there, out there live, on the internet where anyone could find it, here in my diary where I am a little less cautious than I should be about being anonymous. But I can't not be, I have to write real.
I live in Yorba Linda. I wrote an entry about the fires that blew threw my town/city on Saturday. I wrote about loss, collective tragedy, being human, leaving no one behind, taking care of our own, judgment and redemption. It was beautiful, it was poignant, it was my soul spread out in words. It is gone. I must let it go now as millions have to let go of the objects and houses that they have held on to and attached value to. No object should own or be our soul. We cannot pimp out our soul. It is wrong and kills us inside and makes us in to people WE don't even want to be with. I turned in to someone I didn't want to be with because I pimped mine out.
I dangled my participle up there in a sentence (Surprise grammar test, see if you can find it..) and that puts a rare smile on my face. Grammar rules say you can't but you can if you know when you can, so you have to learn the rules to learn how to break them. It's called discipline, and I needed a little of it. I got it.
My family is okay, our neighborhood is okay, but so many, so close, are not. My uncle's house was so very close, so so very close.
I already purged, so I can't write much here. But I am back diaryland, I am making myself be back.
