My REM this morning was about writing a blog and I think it was good but I don't remember it. Perhaps it will come to me. Blogging is so specific, for most people. I just read of one this morning by a person who specializes in book lists, of which there are a plethora at this time of year. Every magazine, newspaper and self-styled critic, plus every organization with a particular angle, all of them create a best-of-the-year list. Lists are all very well in their way, and I love my lists, whether they're of groceries or tasks or thank-you letters to write - soon! (When I was a girl it was considered good luck to write your thank-yous before the new year, another indication of how OLD I am. Does anyone except a few of nature's aging gentlewomen write thank-you letters any more?.) But lists can be daunting, especially book lists, as you realize yet again how many books you have NOT read. I've said before that I will defend to the death every person's right to write. But so many of them get published these days. They are IMpossible to keep up with. Some I can easily dismiss as not for me; others are harder and, in fact, guilt-inducing. Therefore I will never read that blog listing book lists. Too much! A couple of organizations send out lists of petitions to sign, with an addendum that a donation - as little as a dollar - would be appreciated. There aren't that many dollars to give, at least not in my purse, not right now. More guilt. Oh, dear. I wish I could remember the blog I dreamed about.