Today I wrote four solid pages on paper, in ink- pen to page. And I remembered how I used to do that every day. It felt odd and good. I can definitely type faster than I write. In fact I think I type almost as fast as I think, which is why the “writing” I do on a keyboard probably isn’t as good as the writing I put down on paper.
Not that any of it is really good. (See? That was a fragment.)
Then I folded those four pages up, put them in an envelope and sealed it for delivery to my dad, who is coming into town tomorrow with my mom to visit.
I’m glad they are coming. I am in need of hugs and perspective and the kind of hope that only dad can point out around the corner.