It has been 22 days since my last post… My first instinct is to think I’m lost. I’m lost with writing or writing is lost with me. My mind is producing ideas in fast track but my fingers are not reaching the keyboard.

Lack of time, of interest, of commitment? Not sure. I guess all writers that do this for a hobby face this type of guilt or confusion at some point.

Life is as complicated as we make it. Today, as I drove dad to his cancer treatment center, my mind was rushing into one topic after another. I even placed some relaxing music on my earplugs and decided to relax. So much hurry, so much anxiety and reality is, I was driving dad to take his medicine, because he has cancer.

How come we get so trapped into small worries and non trandescental issues?

Life is precious, life is short. Life is. 

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