Words are cheap unless you buy them in bulk

Sleep deprivation has always been a weakness of mine - the CIA wouldn't have far to go to break this boy - just keep him awake a few hours past his bead time and he would be squealing like a pig. Admitting to crimes that haven't been committed yet.

I am trying to piece togehter how I got into writing a book . Is it what happens when you rad too much - by force of nature you have to comply - squeeze a few words out yourself. In this case it feel like fate has trodden on me - innocent little tube of toothpaste - that I am forcing out the contents, probably not a pretty sight.

In reality it was a ,ogical conclusion to everything else I have been doing over the last few years, the 'obligatory book' must be got out of the way. Maybe I will never do this again. I am not sure I am enjoying it enough to want to live long enough for another chance. Which brings us to menaing - as in meaningful participation. Doing something meaningful - am old enough to know that this does not necessarily involve saving damsels (my wife doesn't like it when I mention trying to do that). Or saving the planet from an approaching astroid (dealing quietly with my own hemoroids is challenge enough). It seems to me that life comes and brings all this stuff to us - consciousness - relationships, nice tans - then sneaks back and steal it all back - bit by bit to prolong the suspense - the grim deterioration of mind and body. Which curls us back to meaning.