It's been a long time since I've sat down and written something that wasn't a list. Well, I did write what could be called a long-winded love letter to my best friend who left for the Peace Corps in Mali, but other than that: lists. Occasionally, my lists can be thorough enough to encapsulate small brainstorms that I've whipped up, such as "Write about work?," or how about "A blog post about bilingual education?," or "Blog post written in Spanish for friends in Puente Geníl?" Always with a question mark. Always. Just reminding me, in case I'd forgotten while racking my brain for things to write about, of my crippling self-doubt.
But here I am. I have a blog, and although it had a very specific, all-too-common purpose (She's teaching English! Abroad! Alone! in Spain!) I'm deciding the platform works for me, if only for the ease of being able to dive in and bang out something to externalize my thoughts. The title hasn't changed, but my circumstances have. I don't know what direction to take my work, or what career path I will fit into; and in the same vein, I don't know what I want this blog to be. But, I have been told that the only way to 'find a path' is to keep working, keep making, keep doing whatever makes you feel like a living, breathing non-waste-of-space-piece-of-shit. So this is me, trying not to be attached to the likely shitty outcome. Yeah, I'll admit, these paragraphs are dismal. But they're not artificial. These are my feelings here, people.
Until next time (and hopefully with a more focused approach),
Morrigan
