“I love being a woman”. How long will I continue to convince myself of this premise? No, I love being myself. Myself just happens to be a woman. Let’s get it straight for the record shall we? There, I said it.
Without argument, I do love it when I wake up in the morning with an entire essay in my head. Swirling clouds of thoughts materialize themselves as concrete and lucid entities that are clear as day. I love it even more when I read an article a day later and realize I am not alone in my thoughts. That love quickly fades to a sense of realization and this is where the writing begins……
“Hey, Joe! Did you see that short, fat, ugly woman?”
”Oh, you mean the one who wrote the paper on interdimensional time travel? Sure, I saw her the other day. She needs to lose weight”.
”Yeah, I did! She just invented interdimensional time travel”.