|*Not Dad's actual classroom|
Me? I am a writer.
I may never earn a dime with my words. I may never again make them public. I may never again put pen to paper and let the word flow forth. But in my soul, I will still be a writer. It's something I always have been, and it's something I always will be. I just never really realized it until now.
|*My actual journal. The pen is a bitch to use though.|
It fits as comfortably as thinking of myself as "woman" or "mental health advocate." The realization feels kinda like getting that last long piece in Tetris that you really really need before you lose the game, and it's just enough to get you to the next level. Ka-chunk.... perfect fit into the foundation. (No part of me went blinky blinky and disappeared though... it's an imperfect analogy).
|*Not an actual Tetris game|