I can’t even remember the last time I wrote something for fun. Even though writing is one of my favorite things ever. I’m not going to sit here on my futon in my dorm room and write the great American novel. Far from it. If I still have your attention, then claps to you. You are now reading a totally pointless article about words that just flow out of my fingers.
One day, I will write something life changing. I swear by it. One day a random person will compliment my article and be enthusiastic instead of the awkward “I like your article” No you didn't. The sad thing is, any of my writing that has ever been published has fallen under the category of mediocre. In fact, I feel like this article although pointless and with lack of passion, has the same tone as if I we’re to write about a great tragedy. It’s my sarcasm. I do not apologize for it. This is why I would never survive in Syracuse or some great journalism school. I constantly make fun of my own writing within my writing. I never am proud of what I write. I just enjoy doing it. In fact, everything I do that I love, I pretty much suck at. I absolutely can’t stand when people try to convince me otherwise. Dude, I am not looking for sympathy. I am making you aware that I know I suck so that later when you go home you will feel less obligated to talk shit about my suckiness. Yeah…
You would think that every college freshman, even only at the age of 17 would have found some part of their calling in high school. I feel like a bunny rabbit. Walking around on my own. Just trying to survive and do what I believe I’m supposed to do. I’m shy. I can be eccentric. I enjoy my own company and others me. But I never make an impact. Sure, people let me know on a daily basis how much I mean to them, but I always look right past those words that anyone could compose through a text message. I never actually feel the love. I just float down the river, and if you need my help I’ll be there. That is that. People tell me I’m funny. Those people really need some help. I’m probably the most annoying person I have ever met. Again, no sympathy. I laugh at myself whenever I say that, but it’s the truth. It is what I believe.
So I have danced since I was 3 years old. I absolutely love doing it. But see, I have double D breasts, feel like I look like an idiot, and have no means of motivation to improve. Wanting is not enough. I purely suck. A person saying “well, I could never do that” is not a compliment! No shit. I've only been working on those splits since toddlerhood and only hit the floor when the adrenaline of being on stage hits me. I don’t go around flaunting that I’m amazing and going to the 2016 Olympics cough cough. But there are those people that I do admire. I have idols for what I want to.
I write. Everyone (which is most people) that can write better than me, I am whole-heartedly jealous. I want to possess what they have. Sometimes I do think it’s pretty damn unfair that they’re good at what I love to do. At the same time I don’t really care. I always think I will just automatically improve but I forget that you have to work for improvement.
Still with me?
Okay.
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