I have been writing and writing...and...well...writing.
I am a "writer".
Parentheses because...I am just me. I happen to write. But now it is a thing. A paying thing. I am doing well. Really well for the likes of me. It is like telling a genie...hey...I wish to be...a writer. And then suddenly you are. But there are still holes. And you wonder...I am getting exactly what I wished for...so what is the problem?
I need to write here. I need to be free. I need to...express the vastness of my ineptitude. I need to be on my knees. What good is writing if it does not humble you?
I have done these things...that I never imagined I would. I did a conference. I was on TV as the main course. People believe there is something in me that is special but my god...why don't I believe this? Maybe it is better not to believe.
What would be possible if I only believed in myself? I don't know. I am still not there.
Come sit a spell and shoot the breeze. Sweeten the day with a little synchronicity...
