I want to write a post about my grandchidren

I want to orgazie my blog: comments, widgets, etc

rendom thoughts…aphsia is more difficult that it seems

How Do I Compose “A Letter To My Granddaughter” When I Write Like A Manic?

You know sometimes you realize something that you knew all along but you didn’y know you knew it.  here’s one.  I am a one-handed aphasic.  I should write it on the blackboard 100 times; for punishment…but I can’t write.  This is becoming boring even to me.  I have written posts similar to this one seveal times.

Is this a story that has a point?  Is this a journal for random thoughts?  Both, I think, but I wanr to label them as such…tags, i guess.

Hey, NO MORE CAPITALIZATION!  its just one more roadblock for an aphasic writer!

i use the spell-check like a polio victim uses an iron long.  necessary, but troublesome.

people have prolems much worse than I.   Much worse.   And they write.   I know if painters who kold the brush in theie teeth.  Stephen Hawking can’t move at all…although he has an administrative assissant.   Ii know i am alive and that is a medical miracle.   I hate complaning.   Do it, and take  the consequences. and learn. and shut up.   But sometimes, in a personal journal like this, private one would say, …   …   …  its hard to be up beat.   be upbeat, or be beat up!

so i’m going to use the ‘spell check’ less.   tell me, if i’m making you crazy.   but i’m already crazy.   i’m short of breathe.   my mind hurts. 

i know you have problems of your own and we all use the internet to support each other.  

sometimes your in an experiment and the subject of the eperiment is you. 

i’m the rat. 

rat-a-tatat.   the little drummer boy said.   deaf, from the beats of his upbeat vaudeville drum.
“To ba or not tuba,” Hamlet said, killing me softly with his love for Roberta Flack. 

Geste a moment.  this getting silly.
Jest a moment, Beau said, to Markoff, Derrida-ingly.

Now I think I know what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they’re not listening still.
Perhaps they never will…


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