To be quite hard on myself, I dislike not being able to write as much as I should be writing at this point. There's just something about being away from the halls of the liberal academe and their self-indulgent chatter about fundamentally inane things like sense of identity and the meaning of happiness that frees you from thinking about the utterly meaningless things, and dwelling on the more important and practical things in life.
Suppose a man has an fruit tree in his yard, be it a mango, apple, or avocado. Suppose it stretches out and extends close to the edges of the man's property, with mighty roots supporting the massive branches. The man has a neighbor, and the tree has started to bear fruit. During the night, one of the fruit falls, as the time had come for it to fall. The neighbor sees the ripe fruit on the ground one early morning, and decides to take the fruit from the man's yard. The man discovers this when the sun rises, and immediately confronts his neighbor. The neighbor claims that it was just a fruit, and that the man should not be upset.
The Writer. A fancy title that he granted himself to justify making a blog on whatever it is he thinks of.