I’m certain I’ve come to this conclusion a few times before already, but I realized yet again recently that I remember things far less when I do not spend time reflecting and writing on the events of my days. I haven’t been blogging much in years, and I also stopped writing in a journal (as haphazardly and inconsistently as that practice always was anyways). I dislike feeling like I’m drifting through the days without processing what I’ve experienced…

This most recent re-revelation is in part because I heard that a friendly acquaintance from grad school drowned a few days ago in an accident involving faulty electrical wiring at the dock. To learn of the accidental death of someone you knew, someone who was always so kind and generous, leads to a particular kind of sadness rooted in a sense of life’s lack of justice. Can anything right this wrong?

I’m also trying to get back into the habit of writing. Facebook has turned me into a status updater and commenter, with anything longer than brief exchanges too much for me to wrap my head around. Anything in paragraph form will be helpful; anything that requires a semblance of organization and development of ideas will spur these dormant writing muscles into action.

Performative utterance: I hereby re-dedicate myself to blogging on a regular basis.

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