..but not inclined to write about it. And this is the thing- I don’t do that much writing anymore. Work is fulfilling. Work makes me happy, I’m good at it, I’m fast and efficient, and I get paid well. But it’s no longer just writing.

At the end of the day, I finish chores, get to work-out (and can see changes in my body that I like) and I need to rest and relax, and there’s Netflix, my reading list (Gabriel Garcia is next, ugh), Lily the cat.

And then I remember writing so I open a fresh page (I’m currently using Evernote) and then close my eyes. When I was younger, there was a whole different world to see when I opened them. Now, it’s just this ratchet real one that I see. It’s like, I’ve lost that access. And I’m stuck here, but then you know, it’s fine, I’m happy. But there’s always a but…