What I am

For months I had no desire to work on my current writing project. I blamed numerous things-- working too much, laziness, no inspiration. I suppose it was a mix of all.

Not wanting to write was a very different way for me to feel. I was alien, not myself. I didn't even feel like blogging.

Then, something changed. I had to open the next day (which means being at work before 5 a.m.), and I was trying desperately to sleep. But I couldn't because I couldn't stop thinking about this story about a zombie-like outbreak. It's so unlike me... I'm a realism girl.

But the best part? The next day I actually started writing it. And then the day after that I wrote more. And I've written more. Maybe I just needed a break from realism, real life.

It's funny how something so little can have such a big impact. Going to work still isn't great, but it's so much more bearable now, knowing that I can come home and actually get something productive done. To know that I'm not defined by my job, but by what I do on my off time. 

I'm a writer, goddammit. 

I bought myself a cookbook for my birthday. It's for artisan breads and pizza and it's supposed to be very good. I was super excited to buy it, and I thought my birthday was a good excuse to do it.

My birthday is in January. It's March now-- almost two whole months since I've owned the book and I have barely opened it.

I am intimidated and lazy, and that's why I haven't delved into it, covered my hands with flour and kneaded.

And I'm beginning to realize that that is where most of my problems with life come from. Being intimidated and lazy.

Silver

I had a sliver hair jutting out from my head at a wacky angle, and I couldn't help but to look at it. Obsess over it. It's not the first silver. I have a well-established one in my bangs; it doesn't actually look bad. But this hair, sticking out as if saying, "HEY LOOK! I'M SILVER!" ... it threw me off. It just reminded me every time I saw it that I'm getting old and that I need to get a move on before I am stuck living someone else's expectations for my life.

My problem is that I used to have dreams... and now I've forgotten what they were. Maybe I just grew up, lost that whimsical child-sense that anything is possible.

And I just need to get over that. I want to know that anything is possible. I want to have crazy-wild dreams and pursue them with crazy-wild abandon.