I Wanted to Be a Writer

I thought about posting some stuff I've written up here, but I thought that would be weird (and maybe I could actually publish it for real somewhere else!), but I read Smoking Needles tonight and got inspired. See, after the initial desire to be a stewardess, then an architect, it was "author." The doctor thing came along after that, then the acting thing, but that didn't work out. I wrote some things in college that got published in the literary magazine, but this wasn't one of them. I was flipping through a folder of stuff I wrote (yes, didn't you save stuff you wrote?) the other day, and I don't remember writing this. I have a feeling it was after a big fight with a college roommate.

We went to a "summer scholars" college program between 11th and 12th grade, and were strangers at the outset. We were both taking French, though, so we spent every moment together. She got ticked off that I was a studious nerd (she was a party girl, I found out), so one night in our dorm room she pulls my chair away from my desk, where I had been studying. I'm sitting in the chair, and she starts slapping me about the head and saying "Whatcha gonna do about it?", while I sit in disbelief. All of a sudden, my right arm shoots out and I punch her right in the stomach. Shocking behavior for young ladies. I couldn't believe it happened. It's the only time I've ever seen red - you've read that in books? I got so mad that my vision got all shaky and everything literally took on a red tint, like I was having a stroke or something. (I realized at that point that I had a little bit of an anger problem, probably handed down from my dad.) Anyway, this is kind of funny, but really how it feels.



Now you think that was weird? Wait'll I post the one I wrote about being depressed!