Two thousand and twenty years after the birth of the real Jesus Christ, the One I sometimes call “my possibly imaginary Friend,” my self-observed post traumatic stress disorder and clinically diagnosed attention deficit hyperactivity disorder conjoined with my universally-acclaimed narcissistic personality disorder and all exacerbated by the self-isolation imposed by governments around the world, including our own, upon all so-called civilized societies caused me to lose at least some of my marbles and develop a strange habit whereby I would awake for the very hard work that I do at an ungodly hour of the morning only to avoid doing what I was supposed to be doing and, instead, would write down my thoughts in the small message section of my digital phone by typing one letter at a time with only my right thumb, which has since developed arthritis, and I would then send my text to a sympathetic friend or two, when I still had some, completely forgetting what time it was in the morning.

Then I would copy, paste, and send these same texts to other friends, thinking, I guess, that all my friends would see my messages in the morning when they awoke.

At the time, I was innocently unaware that some people sleep with their digital phones turned on by their bed and the chime, ping, ding, or whatever sound that their phones made would awaken them, whereupon they would curse our soon to be former friendship and go back to sleep.

Others who weren’t so stupid or vain to keep their phones turned on at night would, of course, see my texts when they awoke at whatever time they had set their alarms, usually alarms on their ever ubiquitous digital phones.

Some people would text me back the next day. Most people didn’t. Some who did told me that the thing I had texted in the night was funny or poignant or inspiring or gave them hope, etc.

Some people informed me that there was an unwritten five line rule for texts that my lengthy pieces clearly violated and that they expected me to follow from then on, which I never did.

“Get a blog!” everyone encouraged me for one reason or another, most so that they could get an uninterrupted good night’s sleep and others because they thought that my writing should be shared with a wider audience instead of just my small circle of two or three score friends and family.

So two years after this compulsive habit began in my life . . . here I am.

Soli Deo Gloria.