As I lie here, unmoving, and exhausted from a long day of treating my body like shit, I close my eyes, and think.  Just for a second.  Maybe a minute.

Fact of the matter is, I don't know how long it's been.  How long it's been since I touched a pen, paper, or my incredibly out of date Tablet.  But let's not dwell on the fact that I don't use them.  Let's not dwell on anything.  Let's just say that I recognize it, and it bothers me.  

Maybe I don't have the right programs.  Maybe I don't have the skill, or the urge.  Maybe I just don't give a damn.  But yet, deep down, I can feel it.  It's like a tiny voice that's grown into a full-on shout.  It yells, it digs, it gets violent.  It screams and shouts.

It wants me to create, to get these things out of my head.  I'm inclined to listen to it, these last few days, weeks, months...however long it's been since my last creation.  The last time.....I got to be myself.

I'm looking at my old Journals, my old works...and I'm confused, unhappy, and frustrated.  
So they're going to be dismissed.  All but the ones I like.  None of them are good, and I refuse to look at them any longer.  They're going to be absorbed into my mind as steps on a staircase that leads to greatness.

So, henceforth...I start anew.  

Thank you for your time.

Brian