I’ve mostly been embarrassed by my looks, I never outgrew the gawky teens years. The fluke modeling career, false impressions people make about you. I downplayed it for half my life, hid in a corner for the benefit of others. There no longer is the need to pretend play that part. As I embark on a more satisfying, terrifying career, I jump. Headfirst. I thought I had to compartmentalize, distance myself from the past, to find the way to my future. I was wrong. I am a serious writer. I write the dark, so I can live in the light. Those who know me, know I’m not so serious at all. I’m eccentric sure, tend to trip up a lot. I’m done pretending, to be something I’m not. I won’t apologize for the life I got. Karma’s a bitch anyway, she bites back hard, when you need taking down a notch. I am, just like you. Only, slightly different. Empathic, I hope. But, sorry I am not. No, sorry is for sissy’s. I’m done with the phrase. I’ve plum worn it out. They say a picture’s worth a thousand words, that’s not even close to the sum of its parts. One story belongs exclusively, to you. So I say, go, get on with the living with zero regret.