Fortunately for me, two of my apartment mates are English majors, and for the most part I get plenty dosages of swirling, engrossing, literary discussions.
Lately, thinking about my possible future as a writer, professor, or journalist, I realized that owning up to any type of authorship requires vulnerability. The majority of the most heralded works are all written about those most melancholic, deepest, darkest abyss of moments. But looking at any of my past public entries, there isn't one trace of vulnerability or anything even close to personal at all, available to the public eye. And it's filtered for a reason.
Written works of any kind have some type of reflection upon its author. I don't know if I'm ready to reveal any part of me yet, or if I will ever be ready. I'm assuming anything that comes out of me will automatically be decipherable, but hopefully I'm not that transparent. I still don't know if I'm willing to take the risk.
This quarter is over. What a great quarter! I've learned so much : ) but I already know that next quarter is going to be hectic. hectic! I've always managed to keep a balance between everything in my life. Am I ready to devote so much of my time to something I'm so uncertain about? Dread! Time isn't just money, it's immensely more precious than money. It's intangibly, invaluably, intensely more precious than money. I should use it wisely. So is this even what I want to do? Some things are worth so much more of my precious time.
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