this journal thing

One of the things since I returned to blot for blogging is the ease of creating words wherever and moving them around. I use this little markdown editor called Markor on my android gizmo. It just does editing. No syncing or adding in Dropbox or Google drive. I use yet another app to sync. Foldersync does a good job of that part I think.

What I want to mention though is how this one simple tool let’s me do it all. The journal is a long meandering stroll in markdown. The blog is sometimes the same. The journal just is. Warts and all. Its a receptacle and like many gets filled up on a day with the detritus of my overthinking life.

Then the blog kicks in. I write a thing there or here. All the same really. Markor handles both as I want. It also lets me create shortcuts to my home screen for files and folders. Handy! The app physically is just what you may expect. But it is this simplicity. This ability to do just what I want. No real bells. Not a whistle to be heard. What it does do is create and edit markdown files locally. End of story.

So I use it for both and sometimes things bleed over from this to that. What I decided today was let the blog live to my coffee stop this morning later and walking. Catch up with you then!

transition to walking and coffee

I stopped using a pedometer awhile ago. I hated the goal and counting parts. Apple health just told me what I did. No goals. So now I just walk. And feel. And know. This morning made a few turns. Ended down at the perennial favorite La Latte coffee. Now I sit here writing. I should throw in some random photo. Let’s see.

random place

The random place has some meaning for me. But now we have the wonderful coffee. It takes over. The journal putters along beside it.

Now though. Now I blog. Difference? Dunno. I still maintain writing this in text means a closer tie to other words. You can have your Day One. I’ll write where the wordsatter to me.

Where one thing leads to another. Blog to blot. Journal from the forever puttering. That’s life to me. A stream of overthinkingy wife shakes her head at. She understands.

So the coffee sits and words come. I’ll read some now. The kindle cries.