Well, at least I didn't put all my eggs in one basket. I've scooped mud from the hulls of barges, run real estate companies, written automotive columns and played rock'n'roll. The rock'n'roll was always just a little ahead of the fashion or some good little bit behind. Seems as long as I didn't risk being fashionable, it didn't matter.
None of my roles ever justified my existence, never earned me a title. I was never a scooper or a writer. Most days I struggle to make human. There are women out there who would suggest that I might struggle harder.
My struggles to be a decent human being have always dominated my mind, not to mention my time. I've wanted to save the world since I noticed it needed saving. I don't seem to be doing a very good job of it here lately.
This gibberish reads so pretentious and self-important when I read it but it feels so obvious and simple as I continue down my path. I tell myself that I'm here to fight evil. I know all too well that the real enemy is loneliness and loss.
Maybe I would have been a great songwriter if I could make it all rhyme. Maybe I would have been a fine drunk if I could hold my liquor. Maybe I might have made a great lover if everything had worked out differently.