was it not just yesterday I a 14 year old little girl joined this page desperate to find some commodore with someone, anyone who could even kind of understand me... So how is it that I log back on today 20 years old, a newly wed, expecting a little bundle in August...Where has the time gone? The changes of time are evident on litnet, and over time we have lost some of our members but have also gained so many. I use to sneak to the library at lunch time to check on how things where going on here-
It's been awhile since I posted anything and now that I want to post I don't know what to talk about. let me start by saying that I have only 3 semesters left and by every single minute passing I'm getting more and more worried about what to do with the rest of my life, I mean i have alot of ideas and wishes and dreams but I'm not sure that I can make them come true. Creating something out of nothing takes courage and bravery, things that I am not capable of, I can't even stand up to my own parents,
PIONEERING OVER FIVE EPOCHS
A. MY TYPE OF SOCIAL NETWORKING
1. Everything I do with other people online is part of my particular type of social networking. My social networking is associated with three basic activities: (a) the creation of a personal webpage that serves as a home base, a central hub, for my writing, for teaching and consolidation, for service and social activism, as well as for feedback from others---should they wish; (b) the creation of a detailed
Updated 04-11-2013 at 09:58 AM by Ron Price
(to fine-tune some editing)
For those who may not know, I am the elusive litnet member who randomly appears once a year, and then goes back into the mists...
The topic of today, is New Year resolutions. I do not have one. I don't really want one either. It's been a few years since I've even considered it for a few key reasons:
1. I don't find a new year to be substantial motivation for doing something. I find that, positive changes or promises I make to myself are more likely to succeed if I have a more
He said that the best time was when the
Wheat was just inches high in the fields.
Flat, rolled out land, naked to the sky.
Not for him was the joy of the windswept wheat,
The time when summer was dipping down for another year.
He liked the eager anticipation of what was to come.
The joy for me was the bend of Martin Dales,
For that was when I knew we had arrived.
Arrived for weeks and weeks,