Here I am again. Still here. Very surprisingly too. I still don't know the reasons for it. To be honest, I don't really care. I feel you can only decide your own fate to a very limited extent. Beyond that is beyond comprehension. That is faith, I suppose. I came to the conclusion a few years ago that my writing was beginning to suffer from a malady of some sort. Not just writer's block but a kind of door in my mind that was starting to feel more locked than unlocked at certain times. Certainly not repression of thoughts but more of a lack being able to confidently access those thoughts. Illness may have caused this though I cannot be positive. As I'm now more than a decade into my middle ages, I have conceded the loss of some memories I thought I would have forever. Post pandemic life has been a bit frustrating as many of my outlets for connection and expression are no longer available to me. Experts say that as humans, many of us feel lonelier than ever even though we were told all of this modern wizardry was supposed to alleviate that. People all throughout history have been wrong about things like this so I am not surprised. Just a bit disappointed. Despite all of this, I am skeptically optimistic about what comes next. Aren't you?
