The man

I have myself fooled into thinking that people are interested in what I have to say. Like I have some unique insight on the world around me. Maybe I do. I mean I was born in the north, raised in the south, but found happiness in the west. Finally I got to a place in my life where I’m comfortable and yet still have pipe-dreams and aspirations. Things that I want to do and could do, but probably will never get past the planning point.

I’m a motorcycle fan. This should be pretty apparent. But if you hadn’t gathered that, or if you were unsure, I am crazy for motorbikes. I think the reason why I like my job is because it allows me to really pursue my passion. I make enough money to buy what I want and get enough time off to do what I want. If I could afford 12 bikes I would have a dozen. If I could get paid to ride I would do that too. (not really. These parenthesis usually contain my real self rebutting my fantastic imaginary self. I say not really because I could never quit my job)

The longer I stay here the more friends I find and the more I feel like I’m home. I have led a very temporary life up until now. I moved a lot. I’ve had lots of relationships that seemed rich and involved at the time but, looking back through more mature eyes I see that wasn’t always the case. It applied for all my relationships;Platonic, Intimate, Family, and Professional. 

 In my posts I refer to my friends and family with code names. This helps keep their anonymity intact, but at the same time those that know ,them and me, will know who they are. If you recognize yourself from a story and are unhappy with your nickname, tough shit. (not really, I can always edit)

 

Speaking of editing. When I write I usually do it in a fit of motivation. As my brain cools off when I’m done writing I  re-read my posts and edit them. Hopefully to smooth out the flow a bit. I have an unnatural affinity for run on sentences and commas and the words “and” and “but”.

 

Sorry.