I Write

I write because my work day is devoid of anything that resembles me. It is filled with crabby backward things and people chasing someone else’s bottom line. It smells of sulphur. With no time to pee. It’s ugly. And gray. Or, more specifically, some nasty version of 70s blue. It’s rancid and shallow and missing my authenticity. …so I write…

And I write because some of the people around me run through their lives without the slightest notion that I’m an actual person. I’m sure it will occur to them someday. Just as it has with me for my mom now that I am 49 and she is 70-something. I don’t even know her actual age making me a fair weather child just as my own are at times. But, I doubt that she writes. So, I doubt I will ever really know her. And maybe if I do my own children will even after I'm gone.

…so I write…

And I write because I can. I write because I once lived in a world where I was not allowed such a luxury. Even thinking was suspect never mind recording it without his permission. So I write.

…because I have something to say.