Blair and the Big Blue World

Lately I've been ruminating about why I write, because I do it a lot. Every night I write one good thing about my day and answer a question from a journal that I've been working in for about 5 five years now. Every week I write a journal entry in a series that I started one Saturday morning in September back in 2016 that I call my '! per weeks.' I write screenplays, I write short stories, I write essays. I write I write I write---and I'm proud of it. There is a large portion of my heart that is dedicated to storytelling and all of the joy that it can bring and a large portion of my brain that's dedicated to dreaming about becoming a storyteller. So the cheap answer to the question that I've raised for myself would be that I write because I want to pursue it professionally, but I know that it's a lot more complex than that. During a sunny week in September 2014, I was tasked with a special assignment. It was the first week of fifth grade and my teacher ha

I'd probably faint and/or cry the second they used those little cleaning wipes to prepare me for the needle. Then, after being nursed back to health with a juice box and slightly sedated with something serious but sensible (try saying those last seven words five times fast...), I'd hop back on my chair and finalize my design. The idea of getting a tattoo freaks me out because tattoos are forever and  the thought of anything that I do being final is genuinely terrifying, So I wouldn't even bother trying to come up with a design of something special or even relatively important. No, I'd get something silly enough for it not to be taken too seriously but respectable enough for it to not make me look like a total idiot. A bee...a semi circle...a fried egg...the letter w...a qr code that sends you to the YouTube video of Beyoncé's 2009 Grammy performance...a rubber ducky. Nothing is really off limits as long is it fits the aforementioned requirements. I'd want the ta