It's too bad that when life gets busy, I put writing on the back burner. It's also too bad that I cling onto this blog so tightly. My poor diary hasn't been written in in months; blogging has become a primary way for me to record days/dates/moments. And it's also too bad that people actually read this. The whole thing about grammar and spelling and the pressure of being an English major deters me from typing my days out. Oh, the pressure! That, and life. Life is speeding by faster than I can ever write. I gave up trying to record everything in my diary since I'll always be a couple pages behind. The very act of writing gets in the way of even more writing. It's sentence after sentence after sentence while life simultaneously ticks by.
I guess I'm writing this because I am getting defensive--against myself--for the guilt trip I've been having since I can't find the time to write stuff. Then I think about all my favorite authors who write in their blogs and always emphasize Write! Write! Write! and I feel even more ashamed. Like right now, I was supposed to write about something profound (maybe) but here I am. Phew, I'm tired. Enough writing.