Something I can see, feel or caress, a metamorphosis of sort, is changing before my eyes. Thinking only that I needed new daily routines, to get me through the monotony of these crutch wearing days, I decided reading daily Bible verses would be a good thing, and chose the beginning of the new Testament, almost a Bible in itself, the book of Matthew.

I read all of it as an overview, but am reading it again, to not miss anything. Some mornings, instead of taking time to read, I veer away from it, to see how well I can walk outside to get the paper, or I'm eager to know if there's emails. Some days I do better with selfcontrol and priorities. Other times I just blow it. But when I listen to Matthew's ancient words again, I remember what's important.

Another routine I'm forming is reading a book filled with pointers that would help most any writer and, like with the book of Matthew, I'll read this one again.

Then there's this book I got brave enough to begin writing It is the story not only of my life, for that could hardly make Barnes and Noble's reading list. When I first thought about the book, I knew it should be about every woman's story of its time, clawing their way through life as I did.

There is something about the use of a freedom you're not much acquainted with. When my children needed me and my time more, I thought writing as long as I wanted would be almost Paradise. Now, with full days wholly mine, I stare at a blank computer screen, or a writing pad, and squeeze my pen, but my thoughts are safe in their secret places. I'll day dream a while, remembering what came after what, and search for something to work with. Other times I do not want to remember. But I can't tell only part of it. When I started this book I wasn't thinking about psychoanalization. Could it be before we can understand others, we need to know ourselves. I think this book will be a very long one.