Pretend it’s a spy novel

In the movies and maybe sometimes for real, the curious reporter asks for the documents and finally (after defeating aliens or something equally fun) gets the report only to find out that everything other than a few prepositions is blacked out.

That’s why I don’t write much here anymore. Because I’m really a spy.

No, because I create something, then I think “oh,  hang on,  can’t say that,” or “that’s too much information” or something. I write this thing for me, it’s a diary and a diversion and maybe just fun sometimes. But I feel like I need to be careful about some things. A lot of things. Won’t matter in the long run, I suppose, yet here we are.

Maybe I’m really a spy. This bow tie is really a camera.