I have a feeling my December is going to be chaotic, so I wanted to thank everyone who came by to read my writing during 2009 NOW.  I read through my archives today, and picked out a few of my favorites.  Do you read through your archives at the end of the year? I strongly suggest you do it, because it gives you a good idea of where your head was for the last twelve months.
Most of my posts in 2009 were decent enough, but I looked for posts that still “spoke to me” or made me laugh. I tried to write more for myself this year, and I enjoyed it.   Surprisingly, I feel good about my writing this year. One troubling aspect of my blog in 2009 posts is how internal the themes became, as if my mind was collapsing onto itself. My blog theme for 2009 could be titled “Avoiding Real Life.”  For the first time in years, most of my posts had nothing to do with Sophia, at least openly.  Most of my favorite posts were fictional, silly, poetic, or without any connection to my day to day life. I’m not sure how healthy this is in the long run. It is something I am thinking about right now.
I split my favorites into three categories, even with five posts.
1)Â Stories with 0% Truth Quotient
2)Â True (Or Mostly True) Stories
and
3)Â Poetic (or Pretentious, Depending on Your Taste)
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Stories with 0% Truth Quotient
Written on New Year’s Day, it is the story of a man’s passion to stop always being “last.”
The Easy Chair
An unloved boy turns into an easy chair.
The Canasta Group of Boca Raton
A group of senior citizens in Boca Raton watch a naked man taking a shower.
The wealthiest man in a small pre-war shtetl has a question for his rabbi.
My mother gives sex advice to a female blogger on IM.
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True (Or Mostly True) Stories
Very Vague Dispatch from LA, #7
I brazenly share the armrest with a woman on a flight to New York.
I am embarrassed to carry two giant packages of toilet paper back home from Walgreens.
I am included in a Jewish prayer service during a shiva call in my apartment building.
I frantically try to find a new shower curtain before my mother returns home from Florida.
I learn the truth about my grandparents.
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Poetic (or Pretentious, Depending on Your Taste)
Words cannot capture the energy I feel around me, all the time…
My life was forever changed when I met you…
One day I would like to own my words…
I walked outside and it was pouring cold rain…
I was reading your writing, listening to the pain in your voices, and then, finally, I heard mine…
