Writing has given me a new lease on life. I’m literally (or literary?) obsessed. 

I’m constantly thinking of new subjects, of witty one-liners, of profound points, that have me reaching for my diary to note down before they parade away from my psyche. 

I don’t really reread the posts; I jam them out, give them a cursory glance over for obvious mistakes then upload they go. I want them to remain raw and honest, and not endlessly edited and tampered with. So once again I do apologise; tenuously tapping them out on my phone has auto correct doing some irritating “improvements” and additions, and sometimes the sentences stating I went for “diner” or a skewif “S”  can be overlooked. 

When I get home and back to my lappy I’m going to read from the get-go and fix them all up. Being a grammar and spelling Nazi this is going to be horrendously humiliating for myself as I actually see all my mistakes, but feck it. Better late than never, no? And I’m a bit concerned about how much of a tosspot I sound as I natter on and on. It will rather eye-opening and interesting to read them a month on and see what I shall think of myself.

Anyway, this writing business. I feel like I’m getting to know myself. I’m unearthing opinions, thought patterns and unhealthy behaviours I wasn’t even aware of, all through pouring it out on paper (well IPhone, but same same in the scheme of things). 
Jamming out tales during my trek may prove difficult on the old cellular device, so I bought a little Om notebook to jot down my journey as I go. 
However, I’m slightly concerned; my writing can become unbelievably illegible, as my mind is a good three to four sentences ahead of my hand. (I don’t know how I ever passed exams at Uni. At handbacks I couldn’t even make out my etchings, how on earth did the lecturers marking the mess? Poor sods). I’m going to try and at least keep it tidy enough to make out my musings. 

I always loved writing but in recent years I let it slide. Self confidence? Time restraints? Subject matter? All of the above I think. But I’ve found my “thing”. 

You know how on departure cards you have to list your occupation? I’ve never known what to put. Usually I’d fill in the standard “student”, a few times it was “journalist”, but lately I’ve been at a real loss. What am I? 

Going home, I now know without a doubt. I’m a writer.

For me, writing is what’s right. 

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