My Love, My Log
I’m that person who writes a 248 word essay when the prompt allows me to write up to 250 words, sorry admissions officers. I have this strange need to write, it’s like a drug, I have withdrawals. A piece of paper almost seduces me, sitting there tempting me with its horrendously magnificent blank stare. A lot of people ask me what I write. I write everything. Anything you could conjure up in your mind, I have written about it. I can be serious and write a direct stream of consciousness. It usually ends up reading like a typical teenage brain: rebelling, provoking, questioning. Although writers are stereotypically very serious about their work, I can be the outlier at times. For example, I have a “poop log” that I write in. Which basically means that, yes, I can be immature at times and, yes, poop logs do exist. I can go from writing responses to Nietzsche’s philosophies to rating a bathroom session on a 1-10 scale. Basically, my writing represents me entirely, humorous and thoughtful. Please don’t misunderstand, I take myself very seriously, and I would be lost if my thoughts decided to stop plaguing my mind. But, at the same time laughing is the foot that kicks me out of bed every morning. If you can make me laugh until I can’t breathe, then you’re my friend. Writing is my niche, my love, and my passion. Let me be Jean Paul Sartre and let me be Spongebob Squarepants!