In love with solitude.

I write about virtually anything. Any subject. Any personal opinion. Daily. Makes me a self-publisher. I go to the Internet. Post in my blog. Or on Facebook. Maybe on the Alzheimer message boards. So many places to go. Google my name.   And stumble across stuff written 30 years ago.  Gives me an audience, too. People come to my blog.  Not astronomical numbers. A few hundred ‘hits’ every week.  Adds up. I’m also in daily contact with my Italian true love. Even when we aren’t together in the flesh. We connect on Skype. It’s like being in the same room. The same space. Seeing each other. Touching. By video. By audio. Doesn’t matter that she’s in Sardinia and I’m in Minnesota. I see her. My daily vision of loveliness. Another thing. I have access to all sorts of news media. From all over the world. Many, many versions.  Difficult to decide. What’s real? What’s fantasy? I’m bombarded. I pick and choose. Maybe it’s overload. But some way, some how, I decide. That it’s better to turn off all the electronic devices. And go for a walk. In the wilderness. And pretend. I’m the only being on Earth. Alive and conscious. And in love with solitude. –Jim Broede