To begin
It’s nine p.m. instead of losing myself on the couch and in a movie, I decided to return here. It’s like a dare: Write.
It’s something that I have successfully avoided recently. That and, oh, reading. Why? What am I avoiding? Instead of berating myself, this time I choose to confront the fear. Perhaps, along the way, I will overcome it. Even just writing this makes me taste the beginnings of it, like the red wine on my tongue and in my gums. Warm. Perhaps I am concerned about my ability to write. Perhaps this is what has been plaguing me, in my writing assignments.
Can I do it?
Maybe, but can I do it well?
Last night, to my mother (of course), I confessed a recent daydream — medical school. Hah. Clearly a result of my current addiction. No matter the origin, the thought has lingered. In all honesty, I don’t think I’m cut out for it. I don’t think it’s for me - the long, no sleep, no food, exhausting and emotionally draining hours; the unpredictable and undeniable.
The point is, I never considered medical school. I believed my options to be few. And I’m still only beginning to understand that I don’t have to pick one “carrer.” This isn’t freshman year. I’m not picking a major. I guess I’m trying to to break out of the box.
It’s tough (relatively speaking, that is), this figuring yourself out stuff. And, in the past, I’ve filled journals with my chicken scratch. My hand never tired. It does now. My mind isn’t flowing through a pen anymore. It’s grown used to the computer. I used to write everything by hand. In college, I would eventually type my draft it, print it, and edit it by hand. Over and over and over again. I loved that process.
Perhaps this will prove an enjoyable “process” too.
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