Sometimes I get in this particular mood. I've mentioned it before, ad nauseum...

I yammer sometimes. Usually there's alcohol involved. Not tonight, though.

Who am I? What am I? How am I?

Sometimes, I enjoy contemplating these questions.

I'd like to say that I'm done with what I was doing. They paid me. There's no real purpose to it anymore. I ranted and raved for months and months. It will, most likely, never see the light of day. But they paid me, so does that make me a real writer? A professional? Maybe.

I need to come back here, to where I started. Nothing written doesn't mean nothing nothing nothing nothing. So much has happened, is happening, will I'm sure continue to happen.

It's the same stuff. Some things never change. Some things change too much. I can't even catch my breath, let alone compose my thoughts and put them into words.

I spend a lot of time trying to do what I perceive to be the right thing. Usually, I then spend a lot of time doubting my actions and decisions. I feel like I'm missing something. Like if I said or did or didn't say or didn't do some particular thing or things, then maybe things would be better.

I spend a lot of time trying to understand the motives of people who, quite frankly, are incomprehensible. I hear these words, or I think these words. I ignore all evidence so that I can ignore these words. Crazy is another word I've heard a lot, though I've never quite been ready to accept that particular description. If I did that, then I'd have to assign that word to myself as well, and I'm seldom willing to do that.

I dunno. Maybe I should.