I never kept a journal. It never seemed a productive use of my time. Forgive my Gen X framing but it seemed a bit Gay.
I am however not getting any younger. I’m a widower with 2 boys and a life to reflect on.
Here I’ll attempt to capture some thoughts; some memories and musings.
Perhaps when I die, my sons shall read it and know me more?
Know that I loved their mother dearly. Know that I had fun and did some mad shit. Know that I worked hard and I’m proud of being “honest to the point of brutality”.
And you dear reader, get to peer into the psyche of an anonymous individual.
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