I haven’t been able to write enough the past year.
That’s because I haven’t been able to read enough the past year.

Poem.

The joys of teaching at a public university have been a tad too satiating for me, but they have prepared me well for this new social distancing lifestyle. This concept of being stuck in your home because the outside might kill you is nothing foreign to Canada. Here, we call it Winter.

I am starved of writing. I have some kind of a primal desire to write and the less I write the more things I have to write about and the more I write the next time I get a chance to write.

Poem again.

You’re welcome.

Even when I am not writing I am writing. It’s just the writing is in a journal and hence completely incomprehensible. Reading back it looks like the ramblings of a schizophrenic. What better time than now to put this all out into the world.