Sunday, January 23, 2011


I was laying in bed, either last night or this morning,  ( I can't remember which) and I felt really pathetic. 

Here I love to write and yet I never do.

Once upon a time, say 4 years ago, I was a great writer. I had a voice, as they say. And I knew how make prose go my way. 

Not so much anymore. 

I'm jealous of my friends who have obviously pursued their love of writing and literature. They still write fiction for fun or freelance or write/wrote for their school paper (if I could go back in time, I would do this...major regret).

I do nothing of the sort. I pretty much feel like I sold out to a $12 an hour job. 

And it makes me feel, as I said in the line above, really pathetic. 

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