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It can be hard to maintain positivity sometimes. I try to talk myself into it, to make it so, but I think perhaps my apparition of positivity is only ever a manic splurge. I edge myself slowly out of my shell, but soon enough I will withdraw once more.

Sometimes I just can’t be bothered with it. Let me content myself with my private realm. I can’t be bothered wandering out amidst the community, only to be shot down in an instant by some stranger looking for a fight.

Let me content myself being a decent dad to these kids, nearly 13 and 14 now. Let me dedicate myself to my family. Forget attempting to walk anew amidst people who clearly despise me. Daily I must remind myself why I jumped aboard this caravan. Certainly not for people. No, I’d had it with people back then, and so sought refuge in the One.

I can’t be bothered to engage with hyperactive activists who leap on every minor personal opinion I express, intent on battling me at length before all the world. I will be forty-five in a couple of weeks. I’m not going to get into a back-and-forth to justify every passing thought I momentarily felt like sharing. I will just delete my comment once more, self-censor and disengage.

These days I feel that way about my writing too. Right now, I feel I probably won’t publish at all. I will just print copies for my own bookshelves. Perhaps my kids can do something with them after I’m dead. I can’t be bothered with the hassle of it: of being shot down by critics for whom burning the heart-and-soul efforts of an author is an art form in itself.

I have survived unknown for four decades; I am sure I can manage another couple more. I will just withdraw again as I always do. Disengage. Be gone.