Ugh, the feat.

I worked extensively to create a life that is now over. I have to start again; to create something recognizable. I went from isolation and a culture with complete disregard for time, to a space of schedules and socials. I forgot how well academics could make me question my validity. I forgot how much I loved honey mustard. I forgot how vivid I could dream. I forgot how well I could sleep. I never forgot my ability to look in depth at the whole picture and in return get so overwhelmed I just say, to hell with it all. 

My desire to write supersedes my desire to read theoretical methodologies written by a bunch of intellectuals trying to one up each other.  I’m  certain I’ll never be a scholar. I don’t want to work against people. And I don’t want people working against me. My improbable fairy tale I’ll use reason to stretch.

I want to be a cultural researcher. An empirical data collector. I want to spread good in the world. I want to spread knowledge. Because knowledge creates an understanding. And an understanding creates acceptance.