I think I've been staring at empty boxes for days. Instead of packing, I get on my computer and play minesweeper on a too difficult level for me where my win rate is one in ten. In fact, I'm shuffling back and forth between saving the tiny gray boxes from explosives and writing. Oh, and all the while I'm still staring.
I'm moving this week to Portland, Oregon. To a city that is pleasant and green with gumdrop color flowers and I swear little pet lambs prancing around in front yards. Basically, I feel like Portland is a children's book. The premise would definitely have to be the-never-aging (I'm convinced that Portland is the ageless city. You can't grow old there; and if I market this theory I could put all the aging creams and mortuaries out of business) Portlanders walking around the city sipping on coffee and walking their pet bunny rabbits and deer. Best-seller??
I think I've promised my pop this for years. I remember the brown leather journal inscribed with his initials being given to me when we worked in 8609. So, I'm at least four years late on this gift. I do remember writing a couple of entries, but then my dedication flew out the window and I squandered my time probably reading and thinking about how I should be writing for him. This time, however, I have a goal and a spirit to keep this blog alive.
So, Happy Birthday pop! I would make some quip about you being over the hill (actually past it by a couple of years) or call you old man or something, but this is a tactful blog.
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