i had decided to commit my life to writing when i was 20. i had a good teacher at the time, a very guru-like relationship that healed and broke all sorts of things.
i met my future wife towards the end of it and struggled through a graduate school whose politics overwhelmed me. i learned more about things i did not need to know, and with my passion bent, writing became a chore i abadoned.
i keep coming back to it however like a reluctant lover to his mistress and i thwart her everytime. i visit briefly, get my fill, plant a kiss and i am gone for months at a time. she is no longer an easy addiction i can afford.