Huh... Weird.

Honestly.
I don't know what is wrong with me.
I just want to write.
And write.
And write.
And write.
And write some more...
Until all of my anxiety goes away.
I want to spill my guts.
Really.
But I know that I can't.
My family would be SO embarrassed if I did!
They all feel like I say too much already.
So I pull back on the reins and bottle it all up.
That's not such a good idea either.
I'm an emotional person, remember?
What happens to emotional people when they bottle up their emotions?
They become veritable 2 liter bottles of Coke just waiting for someone to drop a Mentos candy inside!
*KA...boom!*

Yeah.
That's me.
I'm there.

You know...
I always disliked English class.  (phew!  I almost said the H(ate) word again.  Boy! This is tough!)
It was agonizing torture to write a three page paper.
But now?
I can't stop.
I just want to write.
How can that be?
How can someone who has barely ever kept a journal and didn't like English class love to write so much now?
I never saw it coming.
Never.
Huh.
That's just weird.

Good thing I'm okay with weird.
I fit right in.
I guess I'm just going to have to write what I want and just keep it all in my drafts folder and not publish it.
But we all know - that's not any fun.