Really. I'm confessing it to you. It's worth it though, to live in this basement, because it's really warm even though it's freezing outside.
(I'm lying. It's cold as Voldemort's heart down here.)
The truth is, I live in a cold basement because my parent's are good to me during my transition into graduated/married/adult life. I also live in a cold basement because I graduated a year early just so I could impress people right before I unimpressed them by saying that I have (and have and have) no idea what I want to do.
"I want to write. I want people to read what I write." Is it so pathetic that I haven't written a blogpost since October? One of my favorite professors at K-State said that writers write. "If you're not writing, you're not a writer." Whoa, no wonder she was my favorite.
"I want to speak Spanish." And not just so I can sneak a listen in on people's conversations but so I can... well, I don't know. I just want to finish something I start, and once upon a semester I started learning Spanish.
Well, the list goes on.
I expect no one will read this. Or maybe the eight people who follow me will read this post. But Steven says that's not the point. He says that I should write because it's good for me to do it and that I'll get better and better. (Isn't that what you said, Steven?)
