The ghost in the machine

On writing

Finding the right title is difficult. If you want to do it right, writing in general is unbearable. Never good enough even to begin. If one braves it, one is not pleased with the result of the idiot staring back at them. The superego is so harsh to the ones who were raised by it. I will never be ready or capable. So leave it to my other fellow idiots who may feign their brightness or to the ones who were raised on a healthy dose of love and support.

Since college, I’ve wanted to write. At 19, I knew things others did not. At 54, I no longer know things others do not know. Before 17, I could not grasp how others felt. Learning who I was and more about others shocked me into the more human experience. Some of that was good and some was not.

Some of the ways I was are the reasons I cannot write.

Transforming the monster within, doesn't get rid of it. There’s a part of it left and it reeks. You can’t escape yourself. You want to run but its on your back.