thirty-one posts in thirty-one days.
It was hard. It might have been slightly easier without the numbers thing, but maybe not.
I always knew what day it was. Whenever anyone asked "what's the date today" I jumped in obnoxiously fast.
I got in the habit of writing everyday, instead of the binge writing that I tend to do around deadlines.
There were some real clunkers -- the post for the 29th was the worst. I thought the post for the 18th was sort of cheating also, but it was surprising popular.
I spent a ton of time thinking about the posts. Most changed from my original ideas. Six Pack morphed from how I drink six diet Pepsi's every day to talking about my godchildren.
One of my friends pointed out that the entries got more elaborate and reflective. It was very hard to write about some things. Nineteen, twenty-six and twenty-eight and thirty were particularly hard. There were several things in those posts that I did not write.
Looking back at those years I realized that I really have not changed much in the last thirty years, which made me sad. My friend wrote that he kept "hoping for an episode of positive action, where something or someone you seem to wish for develops or appears or walks through the door. It's frustrating when that doesn't happen."
For me too, me too.