Over the past two days two of my favorite people have raised writing a memoir with me. Truth be told, my life is insane. And no, I don’t mean ‘I have a colorful past.’

My life is literally insane in live-time.

Do you ever feel like you only reveal bits and pieces? I think everyone is like this to a degree. When you’re in a situation like me with 382 bits and pieces strung together and posted in the global proximity of Internet land, I suppose this reality becomes a bit more apparent.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had a go at composing a memoir. I’ve got a few volumes of words here and a couple over there. I feel so baffled by the life I live that when I read factual encounters on a page I can’t imagine anyone would even believe it. And it’s funny that seems to hinder me. A lot of the time when I start writing memoir I feel like my tone changes into something that’s trying to convince people this is seriously how I live opposed to just re-telling the story of my small expression of life.

Humans tend to attack what they can’t comprehend. As children we embrace it, but then somehow these beatings come into play that make people forget what’s important, unconditional love. With my writing I try to create places people relate to and feel… maybe I’ll put more time into trying to create that understanding by being true about who I am.

Easier said than done…

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