Sometimes I write

Sometimes. If addictive thinking is a causal agent, then I surely would have had the largest volume of writing to my credit.

Not that I'm very skillful with grammer and vocabulary, but I have no reason to be ashamed displaying my handling of them. General inertia does little to explain the phenomenon of my inactivity. And I'm not as lazy as I may look- I swear! Neither do I have the luxury of excusing myself for purposes of socializing with some chosen member of the other sex (or is that the reason why my writing has not made me popular! No chance! Cricket can inspire me much more-still!) The lack of a backgroud as inuring as Dickens' might be stated, but that surely cannot a pre-condition.

But you see I do like to write. I do like to think that I like to write. I do want to like that I write. And for all that, I need to write- a little. So why then do I not! So why then, has the pleasure of creating eluded me?

Yes! I think now I know! The reason wasn't very far from me. Right under my nose in fact. Now I can't sweep it under the non-existing carpet in my room anymore.

"Try as hard as we may for perfection, the net result of our labors is an amazing variety of imperfectness. We are surprised at our own versatility in being able to fail in so many different ways." -Samuel McChord Crothers