may be the end of me

I convey on paper what is in my head, or heart, or somewhere from where it wants | needs to get onto paper, form words that I will read someday, and know what they meant. Words that could mean something more.

Words, in fact, that will touch.

May 18, 2015 | on the back of a contract page | @ work

one of the reasons I have so much paper

is because I waste it not. I didn’t have it when young, see? I wanted paper so much, and pencils!, treasured any sheet of paper I had, half a notebook leftover from a previous year — not easy for me to throw out, as it could come in handy. Therefore, I still make pads with sheets of leftover paper even though I don’t really need them. But I must, because I use them.

i am a writer — it’s what i do

even when I don’t. To write is to put words “on paper” … to set down, express: I do it when I scribble on anything, when I speak into a recording device or app for posterity so that when I leave the meeting, restaurant, car, store, I have it for reference, for future use. So along with this 2015 scribble, I will write another that keeps popping up as I move papers around, trying to find what next?

Sometimes I don’t know what a snippet meant. And that’s OK. If it’s worth re-using or re-reading, I keep it. Otherwise, off with its head!

I wrote this one on the back of some report, was @ work. Don’t know why I often write the actual time of when I write.

march 03, 2012 11:36 am

Why I am writing is unknown to me. Rec’d a call from a foreign # (exchange). Familiar area code? Perhaps. Where my father is. Considered letting it go to voice mail. Picked it up. No answer. No sounds. Pressed the center button on my cell to see if I missed any calls. None. Typed the number on the browser’s search field and a map came up with the little red balloon — Trujillo Alto, P.R. I enlarged the map, but it looks like a jigsaw puzzle, so I clicked on satellite. The balloon is near a river. Zoom. More zoom. Palm trees and foliage surround the balloon on 3 sides. Scattered buildings and homes surround it, but none are visible right at the balloon point. All I see is dirt or sand, then the black ribbon of water. I keep clicking on the + sign, but the image does not get larger. Trees make shadows. One under the balloon. What am I hoping for, to see who’s calling? To perhaps figure out why from the water’s edge? LATITUDE — 18.44 … LONGITUDE — 66.06… DOES SOMEONE NEED ME? Want me? Mistook me? I will wait.

I entered the coordinates today, on a GPS coordinate site, and the balloon took me elsewhere. Perhaps in 2012, it went where it needed to take me — where my father was. This one just took me to near where my mother lives and works. I have moved, in less than a minute, from sorrow to joy.