Day Thirty-three

Write already. Since I was six years old, I've wanted to be a writer. I was a really horrible writer when I was six, morbid too, but thank God, I have improved since then. Seriously, when I was six, I wrote a story about three little girls who all committed suicide together by holding their breath until they died so they could be together for eternity in this little pink, blue, and purple house. I highly don't recommend it.

These days, I still want to be a writer. Between then and now, nothing has changed and everything has changed. I've dodged my natural impulses to write, and I've embraced them. I've packed pens and notebooks around with me at all times, in all places. I've scribbled silly and meaningless words onto pages in a random and haphazard fashion. When I look back, I find my silly sayings may not be quite so meaningless after all. Maybe they hold tremendous meaning and value, not just for myself but for others as well.

I've hidden my desire to write behind having babies and behind needing to work to support those babies as they've grown into beautiful young women. Now, I have a limited amount of time and energy to spend writing. But I do have some. There is time if I'll take it. I just need to discipline myself enough to actually write. Not to sit with my laptop browsing yahoo and facebook, but to write. If I can commit myself to doing the work, I will receive the reward for my work and my efforts.