That is right. I am writing this, just to write.
I spent years of my life wandering around in my own head.
Then I spent years of my life, filling up notebooks. More than you think.
Just freeform, random thoughts, put to paper.
life improved the more I read my own notebooks.
I was starting to understand me.
Then I started texting, and social media came along.
Iffy at best, bothering others. Freeform texting leads to questionable behavior.
Easy to see this now...
Now I write on my blogs, I use social media as more of a monologue. I text myself notes. I write in notebooks here and there..
I just try to stay out of peoples way. If they happen to like an occasional blurb, good for them.
I am 52, and I feel like I am finally a solid, mature, 37 year old man with purpose and meaning. But I feel every second of those fifteen years of missteps. They weigh a lot, those years of blaming others for the results of my own bad form.
I have physical pain that I can only handle because my mental state is drastically improved. I see my wife in pain, daily, that makes mine pale in comparison. She is superior to me in every way, and I recognize greatness when it is presented to me.
I type away in narcissistic fashion to avoid typing about family. That will have to come as a fictional account at a later date. I will probably use a nom de plume for that rendering.
I am 52. Feels good to say. I did not expect to get anywhere close to this. I never took drugs, but I had an assistant principal tell my mom I had to be on drugs. I had a teacher tell me I was a smart kid throwing my life away. My mom did what they told her to do. Let us just say, it was a traumatizing experience, and I did not expect to get to 52. I did not make financial plans for this unexplained longevity.
Just trying to finish this thing as a contributing, caring soul with some reasonable authority issues.
I spent years of my life wandering around in my own head.
Then I spent years of my life, filling up notebooks. More than you think.
Just freeform, random thoughts, put to paper.
life improved the more I read my own notebooks.
I was starting to understand me.
Then I started texting, and social media came along.
Iffy at best, bothering others. Freeform texting leads to questionable behavior.
Easy to see this now...
Now I write on my blogs, I use social media as more of a monologue. I text myself notes. I write in notebooks here and there..
I just try to stay out of peoples way. If they happen to like an occasional blurb, good for them.
I am 52, and I feel like I am finally a solid, mature, 37 year old man with purpose and meaning. But I feel every second of those fifteen years of missteps. They weigh a lot, those years of blaming others for the results of my own bad form.
I have physical pain that I can only handle because my mental state is drastically improved. I see my wife in pain, daily, that makes mine pale in comparison. She is superior to me in every way, and I recognize greatness when it is presented to me.
I type away in narcissistic fashion to avoid typing about family. That will have to come as a fictional account at a later date. I will probably use a nom de plume for that rendering.
I am 52. Feels good to say. I did not expect to get anywhere close to this. I never took drugs, but I had an assistant principal tell my mom I had to be on drugs. I had a teacher tell me I was a smart kid throwing my life away. My mom did what they told her to do. Let us just say, it was a traumatizing experience, and I did not expect to get to 52. I did not make financial plans for this unexplained longevity.
Just trying to finish this thing as a contributing, caring soul with some reasonable authority issues.
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