‘Just click here, drag there and park the unwanted icon out of the way.’
Access to my blog on the new computer at last without having to yield to yet another password, photo or fingerprint! Life’s getting too complicated with passwords and pin numbers – it’s a permanent brain gym with exercises I don’t enjoy.
Sometimes the whole idea of blogging seems a little strange. It does flex the brain muscles and it is scary how quickly they become flaccid without regular use. But it’s a bit like writing a personal diary for publiuc consumption. I’ve never kept a diary and the shredding machine is a useful tool when you don’t want others to delve into the contents of your mind, so I suppose the most important thing is never write anything to upset others.
I’ve always written in times of stress, anger, confusion and out of love – I suppose it’s always been a tool to sort out my life. It has become an escape route. I don’t fly with dragons or make hocus pocus with witches although there have been many occasions when I could really have used a magic potion. I have taken recently to wandering around Victorian graveyards where the writing inspiration is endless and in some ways connects me more to my own family’s Victorian roots.
The Victorians loved to leave a visible mark on life after death and for those that could afford to do so, left some amazing monuments. My monument may be a little different.
My ashes will be scattered,
my possessions sent elsewhere.
I may rest in the hearts of some,
be forgotten by more.
I will have no mausoleum
or granite for a bed.
No master mason will be needed
to carve angels when I am dead.
Search and you may find
my words printed on the Web
to be read like a gravestone.
You should know I existed,
I was not just a fiction,
my monument to life
left for the moment in