I thought it would be easy.
I thought the words would flow like water from the river that is my brain.
I thought I'd have all kinds of time to write what I want, when I want to write it.
Try working a full-time job and having a child as well. My days are not my own anymore.
I'm either workin' for the man or watchin' the child. I didn't land on Plymouth rock, shit landed on me. (Wait, wrong metaphor, oh what the hell.)
You know I wanted to be able to write some of the observations and thoughts that I have from time to time, but I usually have those at work, and by the end of the day, I've lost them. Good stuff too. A-list shit, not like the drivel I'm writing now. What did I write about the other day? TEETH, yeah that's it TEETH. who writes about teeth anymore, It's not hip and edgy, nor witty and insightful, but noooo, I have to write about teeth.
I need some new material.
I need to drink and tell you the results.