Still working it out

Being a writer is still a little new to me. I spent nearly 30 years being convinced that I was a bad writer, incapable of expressing a coherent thought through the written word. I am trying very hard to rectify that deeply ingrained self-doubt. One of the ways I am trying to shed a legacy of mistaken belief in my false limitations, is to write something everyday.
Today I was going to write something on an individual's responsibility to corporations. I wrote something, but I just couldn't get through it. It took on the feel of a sort of rambling manifesto of selfishness. I know that nobody likes to read any kind of manifesto, especially a manifesto of selfishness. So I aborted that idea, and now I am stuck for something to write. I may go back to the original draft at some point, because once I scrub out the overbearing self centered aggrandizing, it will blow your mind hole.
This whole project of writing is sort of a strange attempt at self improvement. I can get behind the idea of bettering yourself, and whenever I hear about an 80 year old man finally going back and getting his High School diploma, or somebody's grandma taking art classes, my thought is always "good for them", but isn't the reward for a lifetime of hard work not having to do shit like that anymore? Now I am beginning to take another look at my life and I want to start filling in the holes my misspent youth has left in my psyche and resume. It is probably better to do it when the response to these accomplishments is "its about fucking time" instead of "bless his heart good for him". I could have always written a daily blog, in fact I had the mental infrastructure to do most anything I wanted to do. I just never did. Now I am going to start, and all I Can say is...

It's about fucking time.

Sent via wireless device from the bowels of New York City.