Why I write everyday.

I don’t.

I didn’t!

And I am committed to this month, perhaps even longer, but I needn’t overwhelm myself.

I write, because when my mother asked me what I wanted to do as we sat in the gymnasium of a college I didn’t want to attend enrolling for classes I would barely attend, I told her I wanted to think and she laughed

And I didn’t…

and she asked, who will pay you to do that?”

And I didn’t know.

Well jokes on you mother, because I know now! The internet. And whoever paid all those other great thinkers.

You know, Pluto and Aristotle, the ones you paid someone to teach me about.

I digress. I was triggered

So yeah, I write because like all great success stories and equally as many cringeworthy therapy sessions begin… “my parents”…

It’s not all my parents doing that you’re reading this beautifully crafted piece of word vomit.

There have been several people along the way that have littered the dusty trails of my inner ego with compliments and social media likes.

And I should thank them, because there were some pretty bleak years for my wordmanship, I’m talking grades 3 through 12, there were about 9 years of religious persecution on anything I committed to paper.

Ok, ok… I write because I have a lot to say. So much, that I often sit in complete silence thinking about it all.

I write because whenever someone does gently tug on the drain of my mind, the flood gate of pure intellectual riveting brilliance that meets them, has been known to drown…

I write because I like to think. I’m good at it. So I’ve assumed that my thoughts, could be good on paper to? With words and such right? Even as I write this, I’m having some doubts.

What if people don’t hear my tone? Should I just sit in front of a camera and talk instead? A healer told me once I should… Do I even have the face for camera?

I write because I can. I enjoy it. It’s a safe place for me.