The essence of a blog post is to write a sentence and see where it leads you. It should not be longer than 20 lines. It should not be written elsewhere, revised and pasted onto the blog page. It should be (relatively) spontaneous (with the occasional exception for self promotion; cf, my two previous posts). It should not be revised. Well, not much. Though it is diary-like, it is not a diary, because it is written to talk to other people, even only one other person, or the one or two who will say at some future date, "Oh I read..." and you gulp, and try to remember what revealing thing you said. It should not be reread.
I am sitting at the dining room table. On the dining room table, which is small, are a pair of glasses; a white orchid that dropped its last flower earlier this week and will need to be replaced at the supermarket this weekend. My husband will add the potted, flowerless orchid plant to his collection. He likes playing with orchids. There is a box of chocolates I sent myself for mother's day; there is a fruit bowl containing one orange, two Granny Smiths (I know but it's the best I can do) and three hard, green but perhaps ripe pears. There is a book, the complete works of X, with bible paper pages splodged as if wet fingers have been turning them. Which they have.