I Am Not Hamlet

     I don't know about you, but I almost always feel a twinge of guilt when I walk past a homeless person.  Something in me says, "That's a human, made in the image of God, that you're walking past right now who appears to need help."  Some Many of them are scammers, but many aren't; the trouble is trying to discern between the two.      I got a phone call from a friend on Monday, just shortly before I had to take my children to school.  It seems he had let a stranger spend the night with him and needed someone else to be with this stranger before he could be taken back home to North Dakota.  I hesitated thinking about how inconvenient this would be, how I couldn't do all that I wanted to do that day because I was adult-sitting some stranger.  And there was a bit of fear.  "Look, he's a Vietnam vet, he was tortured by the VC, he's got no teeth.  He's an old man; if he overpowers you, you're some kind of pussy....

I'm in the midst of starting my own business and I'm attempting to write content for my website.  This has to be the hardest writing assignment I've ever faced!  I write a few sentences and then scribble them out because...because they suck.  As evidenced from my lack of blog posting here, I'm out of practice.  And yet, I'm not.  I've been creating samples for my website and those are not all that difficult.  I'm stuck on trying to sell my business. If my business were about pulling garlic mustard or some other related thing, I bet I'd have no difficulty.  I'm excited and frustrated at the same time.  Is that even possible?  Who's the patron saint of writers?  Ah, here he is Except another source claims it is St. Paul.  Anyway, Sts. Paul and Francis, pray for this sinful writer.