Sometimes I find myself wondering how our little family (at some point my mind told me I was part of it now) is doing, so I sit down to see what’s been written.
I read, and read. Obviously I have my favorites, despite not actually knowing any of you. But anyway, too often I realize I just don’t know what to say in response to the pieces of yourselves that are laid out in your words. I don’t call them stories anymore. Too often I’m not sure that’s all they are.
Instead I just don’t say anything and I suppose I feel a little guilty about really. So instead I’m gonna start saying what I think, and asking questions because I wonder and find myself oddly attached to the people here.

Currently I’m stuck in the car for 5 more hours. Parts of boredom and Abby commenting on the poem I posted last night prompted this I think.
I’m getting a little off subject here. Now I’m questioning why I did this at all. Oh well. Here it is.