Rien de Tout.

I can feel this Blog coming on.  I am just not awfully good at talking about nothing much at all, although I suppose that I ought to be.

I thought that if I put words on paper then they would flow.  But they don’t.  You need imagination for that.  And so I finish up writing about things that I know.  This isn’t Writing.  This is just Reporting.  Albeit in a vaguely amusing way, or hopefully, at least.

Once upon a time.  And then what?  Every story ever written has been written before in some shape or form.  And I am not about to drag up the depths of my past, with embellishments.  Much to unkind, and not frightfully complimentary to me anyway.  I was just a wimp.  I put up with whatever life threw at me.  And then blamed myself.  Which was probably, absolutely correct.

I do have dream of who I might have been, but believe me, it is all very boring.  My real life is almost certainly very much more interesting.  But there will never be a way in which I can report on what actually happened.

The story of my life will forever remain untold.

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