Just another Wednesday. . .

It's a beautiful day. I just sat outside and talked about life with two of my radiantly beautiful girlfriends. Sometimes we just sit and don't say much, but then also we have times where we wonder about everything in life. There are some truly beautiful souls here, and sometimes I think that the majority of people here miss the trees for the forest. I know that I used that idiom wrong, and I did it on purpose. There is an overwhelming mass of people that attend this institution every day, and sometimes it's easy just to see everyone as just another face. But gosh, I have gotten to know some of these "faces," and they are beautiful.

Today, me and my girlfriends all communed while sharing our leather journals with each other, talking about what we write in them. It was a lovely bonding moment, talking about how we each are driven to write.

I wish that I could write, for a living I mean. I so often doubt my own writing ability, or whether I even have anything valid to say, or anything poetic to express, or any worthwhile stories to tell. I don't know. . . .I think I'll have to search that out soon, because I've been running from my passion for writing long enough, and it is such a deep part of me that I can't bottle up for much longer. Like Sylvia Plath wrote: "I write because there is a voice within me that will not be still."