Guilt

This is not the perfect blog entry to end the year. Life is imperfect.

The very first feeling I remember is that of guilt.
Painful and beautiful guilt. The earliest games I played were in my mind. The reality of play with playmates, with objects, the wind in your face as you rushed around were not as real as the games I played in my mind. The pain, the torturous pain I could cause myself was a work of art, of beauty in comparison with the miniscule cuts and bruises that hopscotch could provide. Elaborate and embellished. Intricate and intense. Long drawn out and yet never tiresome.
It was never thought provoking thought, thought for the sake of thought. Why do I paint? Why do I write? Why do I play? It is for the same reason that I play. Play with guilt.