Experiments in writing my own reality. This one is brought to you by Alex J. My resolutions always seems to be a variation on me making more time to do things. Lots of thing because my ambition will not accept that time is a finite resource.

I masquerade in these beautiful garments, smiling, and laughing, hoping against hope that my façade will convince the most doubtful person myself. I hope that if I dress pretty enough and pretend I have confidence, then I may begin to believe they are really true. But, the force locked within me never seems to loose its grip on my heart. Who am I deceiving? What brought this sudden, seeming backslide in my recovery? Do I thi.

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