I was 22, a hopeful man, polished, well practiced, and ahead of my time -- all those great things young fools attribute to themselves as granted and obvious, but none of those things ever being earned by doing a life sentence within the confines of a man's life. I was ready to conquer the world, but the world was busy and had better things to do.
Naive is a French word; perhaps you've heard of it.
Early on, that life sentence lacked anything compelling enough to write about, so, quite simply, I didn't.
I'll be 42 this spring, a pessimistic man who is not polished, not well practiced, and mentally bruised from the time and place called the present -- all those things that older men never intended to become, but became nonetheless.
Blasé is another French word; perhaps you live it.
I'm hoping to get unstuck a little at this point. My first step was to start writing a blog. It's random, therapeutic, and excitingly fun dusting off a forgotten skill-set. My next move is signing up for a writing class at Lewis-Clark State College. Nearly two decades have unfolded since my last serious exposure to collegiate level English classes, so it'll be a shock -- a most welcome shock -- to the relaxed writing style you occasionally encounter here.
Time to light a fire under Chris.