Scary title, huh? But rest assured that I am not leaving my planet or any other (at least not in the near future). If that were the case, I'd have written about it by now or at least thrown a farewell party or something. The title of this post has to do with what may hold for my blog. The post itself was inspired by a recent post I made on Facebook regarding the need to buckle down and start doing some writing here. Last year, I managed to write 37 posts, but only wrote six this year (if you count this one). In November 2015, the 30-Day Writing Challenge got me hustling. Writing about my comings and goings, antics and feelings was the whole point of starting this blog waaay back in 2009. There's no point in having a blog if you're not going to right in it, write?
A few months ago, I published my 100th blog post. It took me nearly seven years to get that far. For the average Joe, that's not too bad, but for someone with a lot to write, it's horribly pathetic. I know others who reached 100 published blog posts in about 15 minutes. Not having a working computer really isn't an excuse because I can always go to the public library, a whole whopping mile-and-a-half away. And they always have at least one available computer to use for as long as you like (unless others are waiting; then it's 60 minutes). As I write this, I'm using my tablet at home because the library closes early on Sundays. Earlier this year, my friend Jeff Siegel gave me a computer that I have yet to get up and running. It's going to take some money to get the data transferred from my non-working hard drive to this newer computer. Money is an issue and will continue to be until I get back to work. It'll get done when it gets done.
But I can still write anyway, can't I? Eric's Planet isn't going anywhere. Does it ever? We're still trying to determine whether it even rotates on an axis, follows an orbit around some heavenly body, or both. No one will give us a key or the combination.
Well, it's way past midnight; before I get to work on my next post, let me feed that notorious, furry chinzilla critter so he'll quit staring me down. A 90-minute dinner delay only serves to endanger my fingers when I reach into the cage...
