I never kept a journal. Today I read a book instead of writing. I am the lack of a better word. You know what else has 512 pages? My obituary. Is there a Check Engine light for people? Ghost calories are posthumous. This is the number of pens and pieces of paper I've thrown away in my quest for understanding. This is me holding up my end of the bargain. This is who I am, a word count on an otherwise blank page. I'm not sure if this is fiction or nonfiction anymore. Memory is the most inaccurate of human emotions. I'm a (re)creative. I'd apologize but I'm not sorry.