Writing has slowed down. I foresaw this when I started my new job. My interest hasn't gone, in fact, if I'm not working I'm writing at work- little notes I stuff in my back pocket to throw across my desk unordered the moment I set foot in my room. I've been working on a couple short stories; one of which I completely forgot but is on my notes. I remember thinking it was a great idea and better than the first short story I was working on so let's hope I find it and finish it.

I don't dread writing, I dread putting my notes in order. Of course no one could do it for me (if I wanted them to) because they're all written really small and numbered in a way only I can read. It would be a good idea to get some short stories out and send them in so at least I get some people's attention before I thrust a book on them. Then I can release a book of short stories I've already written.

They're in some order now though I am still missing some. I've begun adding to my book.

When I first moved here one of the first things I did was buy some pens and paper to write down a list of all I lost, get the numbers for lawyers, take notes, etc. Since I had nothing else to do I started writing and since I wasn't in the mindset to make anything up I started writing about my life. I was going to write memoirs but I just needed to write. I lost the pad for weeks and came upon it a little while ago. I was going to write some of it here but looking it over, I'd rather not.