Inadequacies

Am I half way to the grave? Or closer? Have I accomplished everything I can in my life, or did it happen ten years ago? I skirt the edge of disaster with a will to keep my head above the water while the waves lap at the side of my head. A lot of people would simply give up. Am I better for trying to persevere or am I just stupid? In the face of creditors and auditors and clients and judges and opponents, I smile weakly and try. It is so frustrating and so much of a struggle.

I want to be a writer. I want people to read my writing and be inspired to whatever emotion the words might lead them to. I want to shake tears from their eyes and laughter from their bellies, from the depths of their bellies. Shake, shake, shake.

I am writing this piece in an effort to shake loose some drippings from the top to flavor the everyday with a little bit of bacon grease and significance. cracklins in the cornbread. Tomatoes on the sandwich. Tomatoes are so pedestrian sometimes, pink, mealy and acidic. But sometimes they overwhelm the meat to the point where the tomatoes are the reason for the sandwich. A tomato is a tomato, except when it is nurtured in a sufficient amount of manure and comes from ancient seeds. Then a tomato is special and says something to you. I want to grow those kinds of tomatoes. And let the seeds and the grease from the bacon run down my chin and forearms. Special because of its simplicity and unexpected goodness. That is my need to express.