I feel sometimes like I'm living two lives, that these two lives will forever live inside of me no matter what I do to consolidate them, assimilate them, or make them friends with each other.
One life is what you see, the job, the career, the stuff I allow the world to observe.
And then there's another one, the one you don't mean to hide, but it taunts you, forever, at the sidelines, and it becomes stronger when things are going bad.
Today, things are not going bad, in anything they are, for all intents and purposes, going as planned, or at least as is most favorable for everyone concerned.
But there is no denying that the drive to think about things never dies in me. Despite its uselessness, it has, for most of these decades defined who I am.
The fictions I come up with, they rule me sometimes. It is the drug that keeps on giving.