Over the past few months, I have been working on a personal project. It was at one point a simple book, but things have spiraled into insanity. Day after day, I've been wracked with everything from anxiety to procrastination to a drive for perfectionism when I'm only on the draft. Whether this is because of memories of strict deadlines from my college days or true writer's worrying, it's tough to say. But's crippling as hell for me, on top of previous reasons, I never really know just how good my actual writing is.

And then there's the question of why I should even try. What chance could some nowhere weasel like me have at having folks like my ideas when they already have many masters of literature to look through? It feels like if it's not the new greatest thing since the obvious best, it just gets a passing 'meh' before being tossed in the trash.

But here's a little something I put to my mind. A little slice of a life that is somewhat true and somewhat false, whatever facts and figures are real or altered is up for you to decide.