It seems that life has that cyclic nature where things tend to circle back to their original starting point. For a while my life has been unrelenting. Btwn nursing school and work I'm lucky to be able to sleep and eat let alone sit down organize a good post. It seems that fate and the New Jersey courts system have different ideas. I'm sitting in a Grand Jury room counting ceiling tiles when I remembered what smart phones are for. So here I am.
I'm giving this another concerted effort side much of my life lately seems spent on things that inch me closer to any goals do painfully slowly I feel like if I don't do something with measurable results soon I'm going to scream. The mounting frustration has been at the heart of my discontent with the snails pace of progress lately. It seems that life gets more complicated and solutions get less plentiful.
So I write, it seems a vehicle for relieving the feelings of ennui and entrapment. I read once that its not what you write, or how but why you choose to write it that's the most important. If I write to escape maybe others will escape with me. We all want to go somewhere other than where we are. Even if it's not a physical place we all have goals or desires like so many quavering flames.
So here I am.
