What should I write now?

Everybody has a blog these days – or so I hear.
Why not me, D?
I must have driven my friends crazy for years with my long e-mails – when am I going to stop writing so much?
It must be therapy – nothing else. Getting out of my system all this and that.
But would I be able to write something of interest for the people out there, for the strangers? God knows!
English is my third language; it used to be anyway.
I’ll do mistakes, I’ll misspell words every now and then – who’s gonna put up with it?
Not that the Internet is some grammar school of some sort, but still…
I am very new to this.
I’m thinking, what should I start with?
So much had happened in my life I can write a book or two – but then again – who doesn’t?
Even Madonna or Fran Drescher did it. Well, they reckon. Personally I have doubts, but that would be another matter for debate.

15 minutes ago when I decided to start this blog, (finally, after a good period of time while I was forcing myself to get to it, let’s say, 4 or 5 years or maybe more) I had a thought: what if I ask a reader or two, (if any would stumble across this text) what to write about until I warm up.
What should I write about, for a start?
I cannot really make a choice, digging through old memories and new crises.

I’ve met some famous/strange/unnerving/unique people in my life. I travelled through 16 different countries. I was suspended from school, fired from a job for political reasons, followed by secret police.
I had a machine gun pointed at my chest once in a foreign country.
I was in danger of being raped by guards at a border, almost killed in an international conflict I had nothing to do with.
I was arrested defecting from a communist country.
I won a couple of unexpected small prizes.
I fell of somebody’s motorcycle and lived.
I lived in a small desert town for almost 6 years.
I was born in a very green country with hundreds of rivers, lakes and springs.
I published when the least expected a couple of thoughts in a couple of magazines.
I met a prince, an eastern European Mafia guy, and a Middle Eastern very suspect guy with only 3 fingers that almost became my brother in law (god forbid!).
I illustrated 3 books.
I moved from a continent to another, making 30 new friends and losing another 100 old ones in the process.
I was robbed, stolen from, humiliated, unemployed, praised, criticised, admired, hated, disinherited and much more.
I made efforts, I was also lazy and depressed, happy, in love, divorced, raised 2 kids by myself, weighted good and bad, judged people, hated my mother, loved her for being my mother.
I took some good photographs and some bad ones.
I painted some good paintings and some bad ones too; I sculpted in sandstone, I draw some excellent, even magnificent drawings of landscape. With great passion.
I knitted jumpers. I collected stamps and awkwardly shaped glass objects and bottles.
I reconditioned some furniture and learned French and some German and some Italian and whatever else I had time to pick up in my travels.
I was bored to tears by people or circumstances and captivated/interested by some other things to the verge of obsession.
I read a loooooot of books.
I loved cats and dogs and birds and flowers all my life and had many of them around the house.
I’ve lost and I’ve gained and lost again.
One of my old acquaintances and one of my cousins became Ministers with real ministerial portfolios somewhere far away from where I live.
Another cousin became an American senator.
I watched many American sitcoms on TV and lots of documentaries.
I wrote poetry and essays and fiction and memoirs and lots and lots of e-mails, then I burned them to some CDs and never looked at them again.
I was tricked, cheated, lied to.
I was helped a lot by many generous people.
People in power that were put there to do exactly the opposite made me false
promises ( personally ).
I was discriminated against.
I was a victim of poverty and fashion.
I was a good mother and a very bad one at times.
I was always poor. I worked very hard most of my life.
I’ve learned to cook Chinese food and loved it.
I was born in a very rich family that was previously disinherited by abuse and force.
I was at war with my father, for as long as he lived, mainly because he was a Nazi at heart and during the SWW.
I saw a lot of cruelty towards animals and children.
I studied many years.
I cried many times.

What should I write about?