So the thing that has gotten in the way of me finishing book 2, or writing here, or writing anywhere for that matter is that I worry about who is listening and what they will think of these words. As a an "anonymous person" I had no such worry. I wondered why everyone wasn't listening. Well, not everyone, but at least a good number of the masses. I had new ideas and questions I wanted to share. Now, I worry about having answers. And the thing is: I have none. I remember when I first started dating my now-husband I told him quite matter-of-factly that I knew 80 percent of everything. I was 20 years old and very certain. I'm now 46 and very uncertain and would hazard to guess that I know maybe 5 percent of anything and have no idea what percentage of stuff I don't even know I should know about. All of that to say: these posts will be first drafts from now on. Like right now. I'm writing on the steps as I am about to walk out the door. There will be no considered ending like great essays. There will just be this: . . . gotta go. The uber is here. . .