2020.
For the past couple of weeks, I've been thinking- It's been a while since I've been able to sit down and actually do what I've loved for most of my life. I stopped writing for pleasure for a good year. I don't know if it's because of this terrible year. I don't know if it's because current job doesn't exactly entail writing, I don't know if it's because I spent the last 12 months in a cloud. From thinking I had major disassociation anxiety, to a brain tumor, and now a sudden case of on set blindness. There were times when I wanted to, don't get me wrong- but during those times, I felt like my brain was fried. I couldn't think creatively. Or I was just too god damn lazy to even put in the effort of writing. I'm not really the person I was. So there has to be something wrong right? In the beginning of January I was finishing my last semester at Emerson. I was glad to be back at school, and finish off my last four years of coll