I'm waiting for some crinkly fries to come out of the oven so I can dip them into tartar sauce and fill the void within. Only it never does, does it? Fill that void. Food is my drug of choice, but then anyone that looks at me can see that. What they don't realize most of the time is that it's not the whole story. However no one actually wants to know the whole story, do they? We're all bound to ourselves, our lives, our problems, issues, pains. The world revolves around us. Us. Me. You. Not them. Not sure where I'm going with this.... The other night I couldn't sleep and I felt this enormous urge to write. Write and write and write and then write some more. To wring every last word from myself, pour it onto a page and set it afloat. At the time I wasn't quite certain just what it was that aching to be set free from my head. I still don't. Write about my children? My work with the homeless? My depression and anxiety? My fading vision a...