I don’t know why I put myself through it. Maybe it’s my fault.
I talk too much.
Maybe I’m meant to live in a cave and splatter illegible scribbles on it’s walls. Or maybe live in the woods in a little cottage furnished only with a desk, typewriter and minifridge (for alcohol, of course).
I’m just not meant to be around people. I don’t fit in and aside from playful banter, I don’t ask for much.
I don’t remember exactly what I was going through when I typed those words. But, I found them filed away in some of my drafts and figured, why not go ahead and post it?