First of all, my humblest apologies for being so lame. Now I understand how people find it hard to write and give up. Seems that’s exactly what I did. The funniest thing happened though to start me on the “road to recovery” – a friend wrote to me from jail. Well, is he a friend? That’s kind of up for debate. I’ll get to that in a moment. So of course, I wrote him back and it reminded me how long it’s been since I’d written. Typing his letter was great and writing here is great too but I mean, written.
For most of my life, I have diligently kept a journal, granted the majority of it is lame, boring and self-absorbed and no one in their right mind would want to read it I suspect but it’s a great way to vent and actually handwriting things is oh so cathartic. It’s so much more intense than typing and I’m sad to see it going by the wayside which brings me back to my mantra of I’m glad I won’t be alive in 50 years. (I used to say 100 but let’s face it, I’m not getting any younger here folks.)
I really want to write a book and now that I actually feel like writing one, I have no fucking idea what I want to write about. How ludicrous is that? I mean there are a lot of things I’m passionate about and yeah, I can easily ramble on for a page or two about some thing or other but … I’m out of my depth here. I started a few “books” at many points in my life but they never came to anything. They say write what you know but I mean seriously, what do I know?! … sighs. There’s lots of things I like … I just have no idea what I should write about. It’s weird the older I get, the more open and therefore uncertain I become – not in a flaky, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing kind of way, just less adamant in my opinions are more open to suggestion and thinking outside the box. Anyway, happy Monday everyone, oh, and if you want me to write about anything, anything at all – let me know and I will tackle the topic!