No Garboian Here.... It's finally clear...

Always wanted to write.. always wanted to say something or put down what I meant for someone to understand later on maybe or even now but can't do it. Tried real hard though.. understand it has more to do with my patience than with anything else. It takes patience and practice. I have no patience with writing words but I read them daily, continually absorbing every letter and sentence I can get my hands on.

Dont understand why...

So I cry, well sometimes I do and other times I just scrug my shoulders and know that at this point it doesn't matter anymore whether I can wrie or not. I have learned at the turn of my century that all the dreams and thoughts of grandeau were just that.. No, it is not simple depression that brings the reality of how simple life is. It is much more than that, it is the general knowledge that when you look back, you will see wasted thoughts of reaching something that was never reachable, so much wasted energy.

I did not receive the reply from Ruby and Ossie I was waiting for. Remember the poem? I wrote it, sent in the contest particulars just like I was instructed to by the cearl box top and I waited. I am still waiting for them to tell me the poem was pure genius! Created from the mind of a hyper intelligent girl/child, from the newly created apartments soon to be classified projects, something not to be proud of, even though we were the first family to live there and we were happy, as a family there. So much was learned, and I had dreams...

Always preferred to be alone though, we thoughts, recollections, time snaps, snippits, shots of memories wanting to be saved for a later date, to bring out and review, reflect upon. Write about later...

But I'm a weirdo.. Not like Garbo, although I always perferred being alone, alone and think about what I was going to write. So much I could write about. And there was time, it would all come in time. I knew I would one day, write it all. As it unfolded or shortly there after, the events, the tragedies, the good times, the heat and cold of everything important and the outcome would be something important, note worthy for the others to take into consideration.

And here it is, the 11th hour and not a word written down, or any that make any sense, or follows the trails, the events. It is a no-meaner. My word for nothing.