I never really wanted to be a writer

And yet I blog.

I certainly never really wanted to be a writer the way a lot of people do. I know both in real life and online several potential novelists, some whose work I really enjoy and others whose work is less appealing to me, but I know that they're well received elsewhere. I think if I ever wrote a book, it'd be a one-off, never to be repeated. I know me, I'd take whatever money and run. No contract for more books, no advances on future works. I don't think I could take that kind of pressure. Or to be more clear, I don't want that kind of pressure.

Anyway, elsewhere in cyberland, I'm a member of a group that collectively has been issued a challenge to say 3 things we like about ourselves every for 28 days. Sort of like a gratitude journal, but it's all about me. I'm having a tougher time of it than I thought I would. Some days it's easy, but today I don't have much except that I've made my bed 5 days in a row. That's quite an accomplishment for a 5 year old, but I have a feeling that it's more of an expectation at 40.

I think I'll shoot for one nice thing about myself here. Today what I like about me is my hands. My fingers are long and lean and look good with rings. My nails grow fast (typing 8 hours a day will do that to fingernails) and have a nice shape. I'm very glad that I don't have fat hands with short, stubby fingers. Those freak me out. I wish I could read palms. I have a couple of books about palmistry, but I never got the hang of it.

I have a new book sitting on my desk. It's called How to Meditate. I'm not good at meditating; I tend to be too scattered and my brain is going 20 directions at once, but I really would like to try. The book is just sitting there, though, silently. Mocking me? It's a short book, 137 pages plus an afterword. In theory, it should take about an hour to read, but first I have to pick it up.

Maybe tomorrow.