Writing has got to be the hardest thing I have ever done in my 37-year-old life. Harder than hearing from my first love that he is breaking up with me. Harder than going out into the world alone, knowing that I have only myself to blame for mistakes I make. Harder than giving birth, and I have done that twice now…Harder because this new life is waiting on you to create it, not just push it from your body. The creating is so much more harder than just bearing. At least it is for me some days. Today is one of those days, can you tell? Someone much smarter than I am said to write, even if it is (something to the effect of) "This sucks, this sucks, this sucks". It works.

My cat , Fluffy, the wonder fart, is sitting on the window ledge above and in front of me, just sitting there and looking at me. I wonder what he is thinking? Probably wondering what was so hard about this writing thing. Thinking that he could do it better if he had a human’s hands and fingers.

My first task a week or so ago was to start a journal. A new-found writer friend suggested I do this to get my creative juices flowing. She was right too. It has helped. I make myself write every day, even if I don't feel good. Speaking of writing, I need to work somemore on my BIAW....my goal of 10 pages is only up to 6. Yikes and double yikes!

As you can see from my blog, I am in a foreign land commonly known as Chicago. I like to call it Hades. I mean no disrespect, but I have to admit it is a major cultural shock for me. It’s terrible being homesick. And I am very homesick today. Call it hormonal, call it psychotic, but I really miss home and my extended family.

Sorry if this rambles today, but the prednisone not only keeps me up at night, it also scrambles my brain. Thank God I don't have to take it anymore.