I'm really worried about my ability to create a work of substance; fiction or non-fiction. Fortunately, it appears my education remains intact, as is my capability for reasoning, and faith. This includes my ability to edit, structure, and discern crap from the good stuff.
So much remains the same, or seems to be.
And some improvements seem to have been made.
Everything is slower, more deliberate. Hopefully, this means I'll edit more, as I write. I've forgotten how to walk; I've forgotten how to type.
I'm scared to try re-learning; it seems like such a massive/daunting task.
But necessary.
DAMN IT.
Arguing for my independence with my trust lords has gotten really old, really fast. See, I’m like a poor man’s Brittany Spears: all my money is in a special needs trust, dispensed as need be by my Trustees: Gil Roth and Peter Johnson. Gil, I’ve been friends with since St. John’s. Peter does this for a living, & cuts me a world of always legal and ethical slack. More tomorrow. Nighty-night.
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