Jesus, I'm a mess, an emotional disaster. I turn it into a joke, or try, but it all seems so desperate and stupid and pathetic. I could tell you all about it, but doing so is why I stopped writing here. I grew tired of hearing it, all of it.
So, I'll tell you about the complexities, difficulties, joys and etceteras of being a parent. Would you enjoy that? I sure know that I would.
I could tell you all manner of things. It's the nature of writing, a form of autobiography. Writers reveal almost everything about themselves if they keep writing. Lose the graphia portion and everything you do is just endless autobio, over and over and over again.
Have I dismantled the word correctly?
.
