While my grandfather sorted the pills for the week at his kitchen table, I grabbed his binder containing the printout of my blog from India. I expected to cringe at my poor writing from back then but shit, it was so much better. The more I stylize myself a writer, the more boring the posts become. This latest stuff has been too weak to be Faulkner and too dry to be Lex. I’ll try to let it flow more, shorter and more fun. This blog should really be more for my memory and to give my kids something to mine for stuff to make fun of me for. Hopefully some others will find it entertaining too. Fuck being a writer. I can only be me.