I write all the time in school. It’s just meaningless words. I don’t spend time with my essays. I just do them. The only time I feel a real sense of purpose is when I print out what I have written, take a blue, bic pen, and edit so much that there is barely an white space left on the page. I love it when I have an idea of where to go next and my mind has so many ideas that my pen can’t get them down fast enough. It’s terrifying because I might lose some of my ideas in transition, but exhilarating because I’m creating so much so quickly. That never happens with essays. That only happens when I have my own idea. I miss when I had a place to do all this, and a reason to do it regularly. I need to get back to that. It’s just so hard to restart from the beginning. I love hard work but I’m not patient.

I don’t think my parents will understand what I mean when I try to use that to explain to them why I’m so confused about what to major in. I think the best thing is to just pick a major and write as much as I can in my free time. I don’t feel motivated enough to make a living my writing, but I am terrified to make a living by doing anything besides writing. I like the idea of being a writer because that in itself provides you with an identity. I don’t know why I like that so much, but I do.