I have a profound love for scholarly writing. I love good, logical, well thought out, passionately argued writing. I am currently sitting in a self-made fortress of philosophy books, history books, and a coupla books about meditation. I have a book that’s been trying to get out of my head for over a decade, but damned if I can actually sit down and write the fricken thing. I actually get really passionate about it, but…I dunno. I can’t seem to see the point. I doubt anyone would read it, honestly. Maybe posthumously? Shmeh.

And oh, god. Hormones. I used to think that I was bipolar, and then I got diagnosed with endometriosis. They put me on some meds to keep that shit regular and it was like night and fricken day.

Also? Where does one pick up a sanity canoe? I have an ambition dinghy…maybe if we hooked them together with, I dunno, a motivation salmon? We could get somewhere?