There was a funeral this weekend. Jeni's sunglasses got destroyed in a freak fisbee accident and the three pieces remaining were irrenconciable. It was rather tragic but a little humorous at the same time. After we rinsed the dirt off our feet and hands we drank cool glasses of water, washing off the hot summer sun. A large shovel leaned against the side of the house. Matt picked it up and began digging. One inch, two inch, finally six inches deep. We dropped the pieces in and the silence filled the hole deeper than it was. Jeni left brokenhearted and Jon led the rest of us in a sunglass salute. From dust we come and to dust we return.

Where does inspiration come from? If one wants to write as a full time job one has to write a lot. What do we write about? We need to have big thoughts that people need to hear and we need to know how to write it.

Do I have big thoughts? It doesn't seem to be. I like to write about things that happen to me and how I'm changing and I have years of this writing.

I could get published as a memoir. But memoirs need an end. I heard that memoirs are not about a topic but about a person. What could my topic be? If I got married it could be about finding love. Or I could write about growing up--but when will I ever be grown up? When will my life be in a place worthy of publication?