I wish so much to share with you the many gifts I hold in reserve.

My collection of photographs continues expanding to uncontrollable volumes, yet I have not a single bit of time to filter through them so that I might offer you a tiny fraction of what my eyes have seen.

Inside me boils uncontrollably the many tales and creative writings purged from a soul long tormented by imagination’s constant onslaught.

Nevertheless, my burden presently rests solely under the foot of work.

I weep for the time stolen from me—from you.

But it will end on Friday, after which this curse does not visit me until the end of the month.

Still, the toils of life will immediately beckon for the attention they require, yet I know I will have at least a few more seconds in each day whereby I might commit to digital paper the ramblings and images crying to spill from me.

Please tolerate it a bit longer with me, will you?