The way I am is who I used to be

What changes take place in the minutes and seconds that pass like a raging river through the coursing viens of our lives? Do we feel any different at the end of our suffering? When the concept of time eludes us and the narrowness of space becomes a withering image of a memory, what are we left with? Each splintering decision evokes consequence and the envidable result leaves me to wonder...what if?

What do I think about when my service is complete and those who couldn't resist the lulling rock and occasional bump inflight sink into a deep and somewhat hypnotic sleep? I have choices folks. I could catch up on the latest Hollywood gossip, eat, go to the bathroom, read a book, read a science magazine, write or just think.
I tend to do the last 2 more than anything else. I have many random tidbits that I've written in a trashed up notebook just waiting for a rainy day when they will transform from an ugly catipillar into a beautiful butterfly. And wait they will. Why? Oh, lack of confidence that I try to report as "busy". I think all the time. Thoughts collide with images that create more thoughts and on and on.

The truth is, I'm no different than I was 5 years ago. Write the damn thing Kathy! It's in you and nobody else. To my credit, I have gotten further. There is a light at the end of the tunnel. Annie will have an ending. What good is the promise of a sweet strawberry in the dead of winter if the ground is caked in oil?