Mustn't I?

Not really feeling an intense urging to write but I wish I were. Wish I was able to come up with quick quips filled with debonair wit. Wish my pen flowed how it used to. Wish I flowed how I used to. Wish things were how they used to be…but with growth added.

So I guess I don’t wish things were the same. Just that they were different than they are now.

Without the insults.

And cruelty.

Feelings of being the only person alive with compassion, understanding, empathy.

Is empathy the same as understanding? Iono.

I’m just so sick and tired of being tired of being sick and tired. I’ve been this way long enough now to know I need to make some serious changes in my life. The first: my pen.

Why did I stop writing? Lack of an audience mostly. No one around to give me interesting feedback so I lost interest in my own shit.

Funny though. They say when you’re a writer you MUST write. No two ways about it. Is that how that cliché goes??? Iono but it’s finally dawning on me. The thing missing from my life isn’t friends. Isn’t sex. Nor drugs. Not money. Well, maybe money. Maybe sex. Quite possibly even friends. But even with all those things, I still MUST write. Write of our antics where we spend all our money on sex or some variation thereof. I miss them … my words. My quick quips filled with debonair wit. I understand now. They’re just a free writing away.