When I was little, I used to dream of being a writer. I filled up notebook upon notebook of stories, most of which I can’t remember today. I am not sure what became of those notebooks. I dreamed of being a writer.
I never really thought I would be pouring my heart out about the ins and out of my life.
Such is life I guess. I never really thought my life would turn out the way it did period. Outside of being a writer, I never dreamed of weddings or what I would name my first born child.
At least I am still writing.
Who knows maybe someday I will get around to actually writing a story.
I am not sure where I would be if I didn’t just say enough is enough and start to write about my journey. It has been up and down these few years. The shadow is still there. Lurking behind the sofa, in the corner, ever present yet sometimes more camouflaged.
It is an outlet. Once I hit publish on the Live Writer, it hits the blog and I feel better. All my worthless, negative thoughts are relieved a little bit.
Some people draw, some people garden, I write.