I am nobody. The world's biggest wuss with absolutely no idea of how to survive. After numerous attempts to earn a living(16) without success. I now attempt writing.
Obviously I've gotten nowhere in life, but now I'm hitting my midlife crisis desperately seeking something to look forward to. My faith in man is completely shattered, however my faith in God continues to carry me through.
Unfortunately my lifetime state of clinical depression is hitting astronomical lows as insomnia slowly robs mme of what sanity I still have left. So the man you know have before you is half the man he used to be, if that.
Despite it all I still feel I have something to offer. I possess a vivid imagination since I've been daydreaming my life away for decades now. Figured I might as well record some flights of fancy for posterity. Hence my donations via the written medium. Man do I feel silly doing this. Still foolish hope is better than none at all. A long-shot is better than no shot, even an obscenely long one as this.
My biggest problem is the lack of faith in myself. I'm not likely to get over that particularly pesky flaw anytime soon, most unfortunately indeed!
My passion is ...
Trying to find justice in life
I know too much about ...
nothing-I can always learn more
My parents always told me ...
to keep my mouth shut and do as told
My childhood ambition ...
architect
My favorite memory ...
lakeside fun in rowboat in childhood
Why I write ...
seeking to make contact and make a living
What I am reading/watching/listening to ...
Television without cable
My first job ...
dishwasher/busboy/floor mopper/restroom cleaner
My best moment ...
I can't recall a single one
My inspiration ...
to finally have a best moment and/or pride
Beware the risk to your mental health! Allowing your prodigy to perfect his talent on a percussion instrument such as the drums may drive you out of your living mind. To avoid stark-raving madness it is recommended you prepare yourself and your home for the deep bass tremors to soon come. Be warned what sounds like a truckload of garbage cans falling off an 18 wheeler on the most pot-holed stretch of Interstate you've ever had the displeasure to cross, well, that's rock and roll to your kid. And it's got to be rock and roll music if you wanna play the drums; at least to the juvenile minds...
More..James Sarti
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