Shouldn't you, like, show some involvement in the real world? Like occasionally at least?This could have been said by my friend Karraine, a confirmed Californian, even though it's me saying it now while muzing – once again – about the purpose of writing in general or my writing in particular. You see, I'm one of those occasionally self-destructive, morbid, tormented souls* who go back to point zero at times to question the very ground they stand on, aka the validity of it all.
Like, shouldn't we all be working and earning something instead of doing useless stuff like writing?– Len B.
What do you mean by writing anyway? Are you like some published guy? Like Dan Brown?
... in a somewhat grey Sunday morning mood on an overcast Sunday.
*This again could have been a quote from Karraine.
But I did situate myself in some reality recently, by watching last night's soccer match between VfB Stuttgart and 1. FC Nuremberg. To see (Jeronimo Baretto) Cacau cry on the bench about his team losing, perhaps as a consequence of his red card removal from the match.