When I was born it was at night. I assume it was at a hospital because I’ve yet to hear one of those horror stories that people tell about squirting some bloody child out onto a backseat/kitchen table/plastic swimming pool. So I guess that I was born away from home. I don’t know what that says about me – maybe nothing – but I wish that it did.
I spent a few years doing the school things and a few more years doing the wandering thing. I never made it much farther than Asheville. Played in a band with a very nineties name, which was okay back then because it was the nineties. I played in another band that still plays shows and played in another band that has a dead drummer now. I am still sad about that.
I spent a few years writing The Bugg Blog and freelance writing. I slung adjectives for dollars and had some great times doing it. I spoke to famous people. I spoke to heroes. I was offered cocaine and didn’t try it. I was punched in the face. I was dirt poor. I wrote about myself in the third person thinking that would get me noticed. Eventually I gave up on that. Not in the way that someone surrenders as much as the way that someone sees a better path.
I still write, I just put it in different places without my name on it. That website for a local politician or non-profit? I might’ve built it. My hands are in a lot of cookie jars, but my name isn’t. My name is on this, though.
I have a wife. I have a nice house. I have two dogs. I have a cat. No kids. Clinical depression. I have a good life. It could be better, but it was a lot worse. This is my blog. There are many like it, but this one is mine.
That is who I am, sort of. There’s more about me to know, but this is all I feel like disclosing at this time. Maybe if I get superpowers or something I will expound upon myself in this space. Probably not.