The solar storms that create the Aurora Bborealis (Northern Lights) go in cycles, kind of like hurricane seasons. From my limited understanding we're at the end of a low point in the cycle this year. Today the solar storms and I have a lot in common. Low point. But it's done and over now and I'm still looking upward for the purple, blue and green streaks of Manic Panic in the sky.
I'm no genius; I didn't finish college, I didn't even finish beauty school. But I am a greedy reader and read as much as I do because I can't do much of anything in moderation. I tend to gobble life up like a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, never mind that the excessive sugar causes cavities, weight gain, short-lived dementia, stomach aches, and possibly sterility and crotch rot. I will eat that Cinnamon Toast Crunch until it's gone. And then I will eat more. (By the way this is a metaphor, not a confession.)
My point is that while I'm not the most accomplished, or most professional, or most talented writer of whatever the hell it is I'm writing I don't do any of it half-assed. It's mine. I own what's decent and what really sucks. I attack the act and roll in it like a chinchilla in a sand bath. I read, I write, I love those in my life with a tremendous passion that I usually feel bubbling over, sometimes resulting in palpitations. I might scare you away. I might lick you. You never know. Good night and I love you.