A couple of weeks ago I brought out all my journals and random writings of the past 32 years. I sorted them into piles according to time periods and there they sit on my folding table ready for perusal. Last week I hooked up my external hard drive and tossed out the expendable and organized dozens of text files into folders.

It feels like a mountain standing before me and there is no way back. I must climb. I put it off one day at a time and get nowhere.

32 years of recovery from childhood and the inevitable abusive adulthood that followed. It must be of some use to somebody. Suffering is never popular yet millions upon millions of us do it.

In truth I am beyond suffering. It is enough to feel the pain of life and loss. Suffering is optional. I reject it totally.

In that light I will tackle my mountain with an eye to usefulness and set aside the mournful wailing and ramblings which may never be read again in my lifetime.