When I'm frustrated or upset, I find myself writing. I create a character and give her a parallel appearance, a bizarre location and create a story. My emotions can be seen interlaced throughout the quick story I'll create. Somewhere deep in the short story there is some relate able truth. Some little bits and pieces of myself I leave behind in each line. I don't know why I put so much of myself into my writing, perhaps if I can drop off the stress, or leave the dust of my path on a simple page I feel as though it will change my reality, or can better help me bare the weight of everything before me.
I've been stressing myself out more and more as the school year approaches it's end and I find more characters are being born left and right. Characters and plot lines are riddled on napkins, or on the back of old assignments. Boredom seeps in like a slick oil and finds it's way to bring out old events and old emotions practically bringing them alive. The pencil, or pen, maybe even my fingers dance translating every piece of me, inspiration from my semi-mundane life and I can take this life of mine and create something extraordinary from it.