I’m starting on my new year’s resolution early. I’m a writer. I love writing. I have a degree in writing. So why don’t I write? For no good reason, that’s why. Therefore, I’m setting the goal to update my blog once a week.
Writing has always been therapeutic for me, and I have a lot to say, although I often keep it to myself for a number of different reasons. Even when I was a kid, I used writing as a means of expressing myself. I remember one time in particular when my older brother did something that infuriated me. I don’t recall what; I think I was easily provoked as a child, and perhaps I still am in some ways. All I remember is getting out my little pink diary—the kind with the lock and the tiny keys that no girl under the age of ten could possibly keep track of—and writing, I hate Stuart! I hate Stuart! I hate Stuart! What a little brat I was! Of course, I never hated Stuart, as often as I allowed my emotions to get the better of me. My point is that even then, I used writing as a means of venting my thoughts and feelings. I suppose some things are better written than vocalized.
Aside from venting, I also find that writing helps me unscramble my thoughts. There is so much going on in my head all at once, that I don’t know what to do with it all. And then there are times when I can’t figure out the next sentence. I think this mostly happens when I have been thinking so much—usually about life—that I get overwhelmed, and my brain just shuts down altogether before it overheats or explodes. Call it a defense mechanism.
Speaking of life, I’ve been doing a lot of soul searching lately, as I am wont to do, and I have determined a few things. One is that I am no longer twenty-five. It didn’t take long to determine that. However, I still hope to make something of myself, so I think the original twenty-five spirit of this blog can continue into my twenty-sixth year and beyond.
Actually, my age is pretty much all that is certain right now, so maybe I haven’t determined that much after all.