My Pen is Dying

I bet you thought this was going to be a poetic post, didn’t you? It just might be. You never can tell. But never fear, “My pen is dying” was not meant to be a euphemism for “I can’t write anymore” or “My inspiration has gone on the long vacation we all must go one one day.” It was meant to be a literal-ish statement. Perhaps I should rather have said, “I have too many ideas and too little time, and it keeps getting worse and worse each day, and give me writing time or give me an F in school (death seems a bit extreme, you know?).” In a nutshell, if I was using a pen, it would be dying.

Maybe this is the “growing up” part we all have to deal with: figuring out how to juggle all your tens of thousands of interests, each of them apparently equally strong, work and/or school, and relationships. My gosh. When I was four the most important decision I had to make was whether or not to eat sand to get in good with the guys so I could play pirates instead of playing house (I ate the sand). I’m not complaining. I would prefer not to eat sand again. Besides, all these decisions and all this business and LIFE is exciting. Life isn’t for wimps, and once you conquer a few obstacles it kind of gives you a nice feeling. (She’s only 18, what does she know?)

I apologize. If I seem excessively hyper to you it’s because today is my running day, and I’m buzzing with energy to burn. By the way, the photo is a cover I designed for a book I’m planning. I’m rather proud of it, I must say.

Off I go to work again. I’m doing 20% of my AP World History class in a week and two days. Apparently, the fun never stops. (:

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