All About Me

I’ve been writing a lot of embarrassing stuff, and never reading it, never showing it to anyone, just writing it, and moving on. 

I don’t know if any of it’s good. I don’t know if any of it means any thing. I wish it was all about the same thing, under the same title, born of the same goal, but it’s not.

The only common thread is that it’s all about me. I wish that I could be the type of writer who explores things other than himself. I wish that I could really care about botany, or cuisine, or medicine, or anything really, other than myself.