NLE at the POB

The job fizzled out and I did not even remark about it. I’m not suited to sitting in an office keeping track of other people’s numbers. Nobody, I am aware of, keeps track of mine. Two months ago I decided to treat myself to a cruise to the Mexican Riviera, had a blast escaping from the New York winter, but when I reluctantly returned I found only three pieces of junk mail in the mailbox. Two had Tom Lawrence’s name on them, and one was addressed to “Current Occupant.” That would be me.
I tried to write while I was onboard the ship, but the only thing I came up with, extensions to someone else’s story, went uncommented. I guess the writing was too much about me and the other person didn’t recognize herself, nor did anyone, it would appear.
Someone did sort of satellite position me and asked a friend if he were traveling incognito, but by the time he advised me, it no longer had the power to make me feel good. Oddly, upon observing my post, he told me he didn’t feel the need to comment either as he had been working toward the same end. I had to agree. He had started the tale which inspired the other writer, which inspired me… Perhaps I had taken too much liberty. We had only been acquaintances in a previous life, but I thought we had gotten to know each other enough to become friends. That might take another life. The whole thing was going in circles, not leading anywhere. Still, it’s there to be taken up at any time.
Jobless now, I think I will begin writing a novel. I don’t know enough about myself in a meaningful way. I feel like a tabla rasa, and that might be a good space to explore.