When irony strikes.

In my profession, I write. A thousand and more words every day and finally, I've been for months, to write. I've been writing about people I've never seen, heard or known. But still I write about them. I write about things I don't understand and things I wouldn't give a rat's ass for.

But I rarely write about myself. I seem to have lost a part of me, and expressing what's on my mind. I've been deaf about my own thoughts.

Now that I've figured out what I want to write, my laptop's keyboards are busted.

What a great way to spend a long weekend.