There is more than five attempts of journal writing, blogging, that I did since my adulthood. Memories of read diaries, not so open secrets, and forced transparency has robbed me the pleasure of just being a good writer. Plus I am as always, a bad finisher. My dreaded fear as always is that I leave things in the middle, never finishing, as I am terrified of the ending.
Which is always the source of wonder as to why, of all social service careers, I chose geriatric/skilled facility care. I could have done better with working at attempts at recreating beginnings, fixing the parts to make systems more efficient, or just about other things that reflects my feeble attempts to write. Instead my focus has turned to dignity, respect, easing clients and families about the “end.” I still have not known what is the meaning behind what we do, or why we do them. But until then, like a good writer, I will keep trying.
