START

Don Quixote madness pulses through my veins. I crave a more than real life existence and end up chasing down ghosts. Memories long gone and now up for reinterpretation. I try to make a farce of it, but recognize where I am still negatively attached to life’s narratives. I feel out the stories of childhood. I search for some kind of meaning. I end up falling fickle into the hands of my parents, asking why they made the choices they made and did they realize how it would effect me? Why do I allow it to effect me to this day? Why can’t I let the ghosts go? Am I attached to the pains and fears of the past? Are it those pains and fears that make me feel alive? Probably. Is it worth it? Is it making life work in my favor? How do I want life to work if I don’t feel like it’s working?

Maybe writing about it is the place to start.

The adventures of Don Quixote’s chutzpah surges through my brain. I crave the unbeaten path no matter how painful.