There was a sign in the group room that states: FIND JOY IN THE JOURNEY. At the moment, I don’t feel a lot of Joy… I feel anxious.

FIND JOY IN THE JOURNEY. Have I known Joy in the past? Most definitely. Sure. It was while I was under the influence, of course. But it was joy, none the less.

These past eight weeks have been filled with joy. It can be uncomfortable, at times. Mostly I think that because a special kind of paranoia sets in.

I’m waiting for the Show to be over. Or for some great payment due for the overwhelming elation.

Life has never been this good. – This comfortable!

I have a routine. Writing is an important part of that routine. Most of my day is spent staring at my computer screen; however, this morning was different. Yes, I was in this seat, looking at this screen, typing. But: it was not writing I was doing.

I was having an online conversation!

True.

In this day & age, socializing over the internet is so common, any 12-year-old punk would laugh at me for thinking it is strange.

But as I have stated in several blogs, me & socializing are not very… I don’t know… copacetic in my life.

Writing groups can be found on Facebook &, with great scrutiny, I have “applied” to some of them. I think it would be wonderful & helpful to associate with other, more experienced writers in my attempts to gain & earn an audience.

True: the internet is a bucket-filled with scams, ghosts, hacks, & predators. Helping others, & desirous for help, comes with the price of GAMBLING. It’s rolling the dice in the dark on if you succeed.

As far as the writing, I simply know I have “to stick to it,” as Kerouac famously wrote in his Masterpiece, On the Road.

And that is so true. A day without writing is a nightmare for me. I went through a three-year, desperate spell. I could only write in stolen, spiral-bound notebooks. Even though those notebooks are forever lost, I can say I was still doing it. And those writing were important just for that reason: validation I was still trying to do it. That I would not let go of what I feel I’m meant to do. I had let go of so much, I could not let go of writing. Even though, for a short period, I considered it. Considered abandoning & abusing & neglecting one of the purest things that gave me pleasure. Sure, it’s work. It’s a craft. It’s an artform. And it’s the most honest thing I know how to do.