the writer

 oh god, i've opened blogger again, it can't be a good night now. glad google's kept this platform around, we'll see how long that lasts.

 

 

 i guess if you're a writer, you're supposed to write something every day. i'm not sure i meet other credentials to be a writer, let alone a daily writing practice. who's life is interesting enough to have something to write about everyday, anyways?

 

i can write about things that happen once in a while. i can write about the dream i had last night, back where i came from, my car fitting perfectly in the parking spot and the trees so full and green. i see the people i knew before and they were happy to see me.

 

nothing really happened after that

 

 let's see, everything else that's worth recording happened to me years ago. the time my car was stuck in the snow, drinking in the dorm rooms, the public pool. i'm having a hard time creating new memories for myself. the base is turning rough and brown, i'm not made out of greenwood anymore. i know better now. i know where not to park at.

 i'm happy i had the memories. i wish i didn't have to relive them to feel something.

 

does this make me a writer?

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