My hands are itching.  My soul is anxious.  I want to create. I just have to clean up a bit first, to freshen up that ol’ brain cavity and reduce my mental/physical clutter. I’ve been stuck like this for a while, but it takes a while sometimes to remember-

I control my destiny.  I am not a tragic hero, and although sometimes our lives parallel myth, they do so with several.  In the ashes of every tragedy there is a comedy waiting to be written.