My wife insists that I write again.
She suggests that I take care again of my blog and that I write books.
It’s been so much time since I last wrote anything that I don’t even know If I am still able, I may be untrained, I’m even afraid to create this post and many others and in the end find out that I just wrote a huge pile of crap. I deleted everything that was here again, this time by myself, consciously, to see If I get inspired somehow.
A blank canvas.
In real life I’m still trying to find a proper job, even though I am working, but you know, working for your family is not ideal! Finding a job is my Plan B, in execution, “the trying to find” part of it. My Plan A is confidential, at least for now. Let’s say that I am working on Plan A and B, I just need a job to say that I am effectively earning some money with at least one of the things I am doing. Working for my mother is not in any of these plans, but it’s a way to earning something while my liberating Plans AB&C don’t start bearing fruits, especially now that I have a wife and my first son and heir will be born in less than seven months from now.
What my beautiful and wonderful wife wants in truth is that I do something I like and/or love as an activity that may bring a possible return of investment in case nothing else works. Who knows? I may even be able to do it, I have many catalogued ideas deep in my mind, many topics that I would like to write about, many stories I would like to tell.
I always hate everything I write.
In fact, I threw away, deleted or made a fire with all of it. I spent most of my teen years writing painful poetry, histories of a young boy rejected by love. All rubbish. I kept an active blog from 2003 until more or less 2011, full of texts and more texts. Also rubbish.
This post? Rubbish.
Reactivating my blog? Rubbish.
But I still think it may be necessary. Lately I’ve been suffering some cerebral atrophy. I’ve been feeling this enormous need, almost an animal instinct, to create and study, maybe this is my opportunity.