I feel like I'm giving up on my greatest offspring.
It isn't true, of course, but I'm self conscious and paranoid by default, so this evolution is inherent.
I'm way off in the world, catching up on my life and pursuing adventures-
But that tiny tintype voice in the background of my brain sings and snarls,
"We need you here, chained to a desk, wrist always writing, pen always spitting.
If you go without, all you ever imagined to achieve will disappear!"
So I'm back, binding myself to the monotony again.
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