Something Eloquent

I’m sit­ting in my base­ment behind my drum­set, My snare drum is act­ing as a desk, and my throne, an office chair. It’s a pretty good start I’d say, because I’m finally writ­ing. I’ve always wanted to write, but I guess I’ve never really sat down and done it. That was a fool­ish mis­take on my part. I know that I’m cre­at­ive, I know that I can — on occa­sion — be elo­quent. I have a good vocab­u­lary and pass­able know­ledge of gram­mar. I enjoy text. Not just the read­ing of text, but the shape of let­ters, the pro­cess of trans­form­ing these little squiggles into cogent thoughts. Why in heck haven’t I been ser­i­ous about this in the past?
I’m twenty-eight years old. By the time my father was twenty eight, I was born and my sis­ter was pos­sibly on her way. My par­ents became adults long before I will, and that’s not a bad thing. I think I’m kind of jeal­ous. I know that Mom and Dad worked their assess off for Jessie and I, and I’ll be forever grate­ful for that. I’ve heard that this has been a trend for a while now, that chil­dren stay with their par­ents longer. Thinking about where I am now, I’m not so sure that this is an entirely pos­it­ive cir­cum­stance. As much as I’m grate­ful for the fairly priv­ileged life I’ve had, I can’t help but think about what I’d be like if I had to “grow up” sooner. What would my life be like if I’d had a kid before I was ready for one. What if I never got the job at LP. So many “what ifs” that I can’t help but ask myself.
I don’t dwell on “what ifs” though. It’s not par­tic­u­larly use­ful. I may not always be the most motiv­ated or act­ive per­son, but when I do act, I don’t like to waste any effort.

I’m going to return to school. I’ve wanted to get into tech­nical writ­ing for a very long time now, and I’ve wasted a lot of that time in not writ­ing. Pretty fool­ish thing for someone who fan­cies them­selves a “writer” I’d say! I’m pretty sure that I have no idea the extent of the chal­lenge that I’m under­tak­ing, but I know that the goal is some­thing that I want. I’m get­ting pretty sick of wast­ing my time in not doing what I enjoy.
And I do enjoy writ­ing, I’m hav­ing a great time even right now as I con­sider which word or phrase I am going to type next. Or when I real­ize that I’ve mis­spelled some­thing like “real­ize”. Or that by going back and adding “or phrase” the sen­tence will become more clear, more real­istic, and over­all, a bet­ter sen­tence. Writing is fun for me. I think that the big reason that I don’t write more often is that I’m kind of self con­scious about it. I can have dif­fi­culty decid­ing pre­cisely what I want to write