Neuroses run rampant in me. I think I am, unfortunately more neurotic than most (although I've read that many other writers feel this way), you will undoubtedly see this rear its ugly face in my writing. I am not a college graduate, although I am working on it. I am an addict I am a felon. Somehow I find it possible that none of these things really defines who I am. Perhaps its out of my unfounded belief in redemption. Or my unwillingness to accept what's in front of me. My life today is about finding the answer to that, and it is maddening. In some ways I am also a victim, but mostly I am not. (I say this lest anyone accuse me of playing the victim in the future.) I am a dreamer. I love to dream, love to hope. I love to think about the many stories our lives can follow and how close we are to those other lives. I believe this is what we see when we dream. So my love of dreaming springs from, I think, a persistant desire to be someone and somewhere else. I am a lifelong learner â€“ at least in the sense that I am always having to learn how to do things that comes natural to other people. Like being comfortable in my own skin. (I am black, but like the pseudo-titles â€œaddictâ€ and â€œfelon,â€ I don't believe this represents me. I think my skin color is simply a biological fact rather than a mold of which I am to conform.) I am a writer â€“ at least in the sense that I occasionally write because it is the only thing that seems completely right when I am doing it. I am not particularly â€œgoodâ€ writer. I just write, and that is why I am here. To write, and to share what I have written or will write. (Thanks to the prompting from someone on StumbleUpon). I am much more than all of this.
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