For the last 262 days, I have written at least 1 page of fiction each day.

That would be really impressive if it was all part of the same work, but, alas, about 90% is unrelated little vignettes, snippets of someone’s thoughts, pieces of their lives, utterly unconnected.

I wish I could make an art project out of them or something, perhaps a huge apartment building and behind each window would be this string of thoughts from one person or another, or perhaps a conversation between the apartment’s inhabitants.

I’m not sure if I have the desire or the ability to write a novel, or even the book of short stories that I have been toying with but I do know I can write shreds of the fabric of people’s lives.  I wonder if I can make a quilt out of them?

I started Taekwondo (hereafter TKD) in September (the same week as AAMP’s big arts festival, the first days of school – it was all new all the time and totally overwhelming) and I’m enjoying it even as it is driving me crazy.

I had anticipated it being tougher on my body, but I’m finding that I can take that part in stride. The challenge is making my body pay attention to the instructions.

Coordination and quick reaction times are not big factors in my life, I’m working on them, but it’s uphill all the way. So, stepping out with my left foot while punching and then stepping back while blocking is brainfrying. Absolutely brainfrying.

I’m sure it will be good for me overall, but it’s damn hard to accept feeling stupid for an hour at a time twice a week. I’m sure it’s soul enhancing or something, maybe it creates humility?

All I know is that I am proud of myself for not shying away from the feeling, usually that sort of discomfort and uncertainty makes me back off. And sometimes cry. But so far, I’m sticking with it and my eyes are dry.

Let’s see how far I can take this.