In order to write...

In order to write, one must: write.

I've been envious of people writing about their past, especially when they write so very, very well.  I would like to write that well, although I fear writing about my past.  One friend, who is a published author, after all, is writing about the story behind her books, among other things.  She's doing this more or less chronologically.  There's no way I could be that coherent.  I can barely remember half the things that happened, let alone in what order. Another friend writes--or, wrote, I think she may have stopped--in groups of five, each group around a chosen theme.  Even if I thought I could do that, that'd just be copying her and I don't want to do that.

So, here's what I'll do: I'll write these stories as they occur to me.  The only problem will be thinking of them and holding onto what the story was that I wanted to tell long enough to actually get to the computer to write them down.

Which, sorry, is not the case at the moment.  I started out with an idea and, poof, it's now gone.

In memoriam

I was thinking about doing a new blog post recently, about how some of my friends are doing neat things that aren't work-related, volunteering for good causes and how I missed doing that and wanted to find something to do, myself.

And now I've come face-to-face with the death of one of the most important people in my life: Leonard Nimoy.  Mr. Spock got me through such an incredibly difficult time of my life as a teenager and I know that that was an actor's job, but he turned out to be such a mensch in real life (as I've gathered from things I've read and heard over the years) that he became an inspiration to my adult self, as well.

I knew I would be upset at his passing, but I'm really quite devastated.  I was at the gym, waiting for a class to start when I checked my email and another fan had emailed me.  I checked the Times' site and, yes, it was true.  I burst into tears and couldn't stop sobbing for a few minutes.  People came over to ask if I was all right and I managed to tell them, yes, I was, really, I was fine.  Because I couldn't expect them to understand that I was crying because an actor had died, even such a famous one.  I couldn't expect them, especially the younger ones, to understand what he meant to me.

So, yes, I loved the character and I came to love the actor.  I hope his passing was easy.  It is painful to think he's no longer on this planet.  Someone else I know is marking the fourth anniversary of her husband's suicide.  This is completely different, of course, but now I will share her mourning on this day in years to come.

And in Spock's honor, I will look for ways to help other people.  The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few ... or the one.