truth time

okay guys.
listen up.
here comes the confession.

so.
in case you couldn't tell.
i want to be a writer.

a lot a lot.
but it is a hard thing to want to be.
and probably a hard thing to be.

especially when you can't keep your grip on a plot for the life of you,
and are super self-sonscious about your writing.
woah. stop monopolizing this blogpost. we're not talking about you.

we're talking about me.
see?! see?!? my dreams are in the wrong head.
i stumble over ideas and this infuriating language.

usually, i pride myself on my innate sense of balance.
my vestibular sense is alive and well.
but not when it comes to expression.

woah. this was not meant to be a whine-fest.
back on track lindsey.
let's go.

whew. i'm back. ahem.
allow me to begin again.
please.

even with my writing abilities aside, i still can't deny the fact that being a writer is a lofty goal.
and neither can you.
can you??

no. i didn't think so.
but this is what i've wanted to be since before i can remember.
and you think i'm being cliche.

but i'm not.

to sum up this blogpost.
i am insecure.
i am nervous.

i am having second thoughts.
and third.
and fourth.

this is not a fishing-for-compliments thing.
in fact, this is in the running for the most pointless of my blogposts.
and that's certainly saying something.

yes. maybe i'll become a plumber.
or a politician.
yum. two equally aromatic vocations. can't wait.

heard them stirring -- fleet foxes

takes so long -- the weepies

the high road -- broken bells