Time On My Hands

I've decided to do NaBloPoMo this year. I think I tried last year but failed, and since I have a few hours a day with nada to do while little boy sleeps, I thought I could try again. For some reason, I mistakenly think that if I can push myself to blog daily for a whole month, then maybe I can work on that "writing" I was so good at in college. It's probably something I need to come to terms with. Maybe I'm not cut out for writing fame. Yes, I loved it. I was good at it too. But I'm not motivated anymore. I don't aspire to go get my MFA and write for my keep. Nowadays, I want to go back to school to get my certificate and teach. If my college self could see me now, I'd probably smack me. Since I want to teach, I never write, and I have a baby. WTF, Jess? I am completely different than what I aspired to be. I'm ok with that. How could I not be satisfied with this life?

Good education with great memories? Check
Boyfriend who loves me despite my neurosis? Check
Baby boy who loves his mama? Check
Jealous whore dog who needs more attention? Check.

And now I have to go nurse.