What now?

Oh, heaven knows I've messed up again. Isn't it incredible? This knack I have for ruining every good opportunity I've ever had? I wish I could be practical, prudent, intelligent. I'm not good for much of anything. I've spent my life scraping by on my butt, and with the real world fast approaching, all of those people who called me out as a phony are echoing in my head. They were right, you know. I can never admit that, not to the people who don't know better than to give me a second chance.

I have no idea whether I am going to be able to transfer to UT Martin this next semester. It is quite feasible that they will not accept me, which would be devestating. I have no idea what lies in the future for me. I have no idea where I am going, what I am doing. I would be content to spend the rest of my days like I have been. Just floating along in a puddle of almost existence, but lives aren't meant to be that way.

I could write. Hypothetically.
I want to write.
I yearn for writing more than for any lover.
I should write.

And I want to tell my story, to connect with people once again, to be meshed up in the world with all of its uncertainties and tiny joys.

I will return to this idea.