Cannot shake off the existence of a self today.
I’m sad, very sad.
I don’t know why.
Not completely, that is.
I once took the chance opportunity to deviate from the path laid out for me — BORNMARRYPROCREATEDIE.
That opportunity did not work out.
At the time I was a smalltime drug dealer working at a restaurant to cover my overhead costs.
I had found a flat with Amy Easter, for whom I was her supplier and whom she wanted as her pimp/daddy.
She moved a few of her things into the flat but the clients she brought over didn’t trust me because they thought I was too square so Amy never fully moved in with me.
Thus, I was left to pay both halves of our rent which I couldn’t afford.
I thought I was going to fully develop my new persona.
But it didn’t work out the way I thought.
Amy was a free spirit which also meant she was irresponsible and a sociopath.
She had no problem lying about anything and everything, which appealed to the fiction writer in me.
Mostly, I am a gentleman in regards to writing/bragging about my sexual activities with others, discretion is the better part of valour, et cetera.
I hesitate to write about nongentlemenly topics because of a fear of retribution from unknown social censors/thought police.
Amy had no such builtin fears.
More as it develops…