It’s a good feeling to know what I love, what I think I am about. When I was a kid, I would make up stories about people I would see around. I would wonder what their home lives were like, their back stories. I would imagine stories to explain why they were who they were. It made me empathized with others and feel sympathetic. And now, I know I love writing stories. I don’t know it’s a career to pursue, but it’s a hobby I can always have. A reason to do something, a way to spend time, a way to get away.
This weekend has been strange. It’s saturday night.