I don’t put dates on my diary

So, I don’t put dates on my entries for a reason. I am unreliable.

It’s been probably the hardest thing to come to terms with in my life, considering that reliable is always what I have wanted to be.

Reliable. Forthright. Accomplished. Thoughtful.

Which makes me sound like some Jane Austen man-that-you-settled-for-but-was-really-so-much-better-than-the-rake… Basically, Colonel Brandon? I could do a lot worse than Alan Rickman. I actually love Alan Rickman. Damn you, Jane Austen. Right again.

The point I am making is that I worked very hard to scrub the dates from any blog that I write because there are seasons where I am just gone from the world. It’s been a couple of years since I wrote here. And there was an absence before that as well.

I’ve been through a lot. New diagnosis, new turns, new adventures… New material? Perhaps. But I am getting to visit my traveling Aunt and Uncle today. He has a wonderful blog, “Wheelie Out There” that relates the life of a wanderer from a wheelchair point of view.

As it was in the beginning he inspired me to write. Write something here. Just to start again.

Because “it will go wrong.” Seasons will go wrong.

And you have to adapt.