I thought I would be sad. I thought maybe I would have a mini mourning ceremony over the 50,000 words I shoveled out over the past month. But I’m not sad, nor am I mourning (or shoveling anything anywhere, thank you very much). I’m happy. Happy that I can finally … write. Without the pressure of absolutely having to write this many words in this many days to reach a goal, I’m finally free to write at my own pace again.
It’s scary. But no one ever said freedom wouldn’t be.
I love doing WriMos. I have now officially participated in NaNo and JulNo for the past five consecutive years. (I haven’t crossed it off my Bucket List yet, but I’m getting there. It’s on my list. My other list.) But it’s been awhile since I’ve had enough energy and/or willpower to keep writing after July (or November) came to an end.
I’ve fallen so in love with my story (all over again, not just for the first time) that I honestly couldn’t imagine abandoning it where I stopped writing yesterday. I wouldn’t have stopped writing, really, if it hadn’t been for the assignments I had to finish up and studying I had to do for my two finals today.
I must say, there’s only one thing that has gotten me through the past four days.
Ironically enough, I haven’t even opened it yet. All I’ve been doing between studying, eating and sleeping is staring at this stupid box (okay, not really, but you get the idea). I told myself that the first thing I was going to do when I came home from my last final was going to be to open my box. But what did I do instead? Oh, you know, got on Facebook, wrote an article, typed up some interview questions, started writing a blog post …
My life in a nutshell.
Now that I’m done with school for a few weeks, I have so much time on my hands I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do with it all. I can read and write all day every day – my dream come true (again). I mean, I could, you know, start packing to move back into my apartment or order my textbooks or renew my expired credit card or find my glasses that I may have lost.
But summer vacation is no fun when you have to be an adult, and hey, I might not even have a real summer ever again after this one. Next summer (aside from taking a few more classes, which we are not discussing at this moment), I might be, like, working. Like, at an actual job. With people.
Being 21 and mildly irresponsible (in a Nazarene sort of way) is my lifestyle of choice at the moment. And that’s all I’ll say about that.