Apart of me is always trying to narrate my own life. Do this and that so you can be that or this. You used to be that so you shouldn’t do this. They are story lines. Some that come from the demons of a past that I no longer identify with. “Thanks for creating this monster…but I have nothing to do with you now. Haha.”

Detaching from my memories

as they are only memories.

Don’t remember me.

Remember what I taught you.

That’s my spiritual view on things. I am a student and everything around me is a teacher. Some teach me how to not live; lessons. Some teach me how to; examples. I have to thank both. What is actual reality? Is it truly skin and bones, taxes and free champagne? Or is it simply what we think it is. Or is it something we have to revisit often so that we don’t forget it?

Let me get out of my own head. I’ve been drowning with novels by poets, artists and risk takers. I am a risk taker, among all things that’s what has gotten me the farthest.

On the outside, I’m learning about my own power as much as I can. I fear determination is something I won’t fully grasp. But I have to, I don’t care.

I’m learning about life and it’s biggest picture probably won’t be revealed until my last dying breath.

So I try to create my own story line. Just like in all of the books I read.

You had to go through this to become this. I’m currently in the process of defining what “this” truly is.

I have two paths to make “this” happen. Eleven. Two ones. You get to be number 1 twice. That’s my story line.

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