OK, it’s day three of renewed blogging and I’m going super eating-my-own-tail here, but there was a post I saw on Twitter last week about keeping journals during this period of isolation so that there’s a record of what it was like to actually live through it, rather than a sepia-tinged version in memory down the line. I thought that sounded like a good idea, and I had a journal that I bought but never used years ago sitting in my desk, so Sunday night I started writing about a page a day.
This makes me realize that my life is pretty boring, especially when I have to stay around the house all day.
It also makes me realize that my handwriting skills have atrophied somewhat and my hands cramp up way too easily. I used to be able to make it through at least a third of a blue book doing exams in college; now I’m ready to tap out by the end of that page.
So when I find some decent meditating and yoga resources this week and start using them, I better see if they have Hand Flexibility for Writers exercises anywhere. At least then, when the computers become sentient and wipe out mu digital footprint, there’ll be something in a basement for some future traveler to find. (If they can get past the other stuff in my basement.)