I wonder what it feels like to write again. What it feels like to WANT to write again.

Life is hard. And I don't mean the tragedies of life. Death, crime, violence, sickness, suffering and hunger. But the everyday. The mundane. The waking and the sleeping. The ruckus and the stillness. It is the day-to-day living that makes me feel like I'm just not going to make it. Make it to what, I'm not sure.

I'm glad I'm not sure anymore. Surety was certainly my downfall.