Today, I feel like a writer.

    Today, I feel like a writer.  I don’t know why I feel this.  How does one “feel like a writer” anyways?  It certainly hasn’t been long since I made the decision to become a writer, only four days ago I realized how passionate I truly was about this particular art form.  Anyone who says writing isn’t an art form is a fool, by the way.  But, whatever your interpretation of the subject, today, I felt like a writer.
    It could have been the clothes I decided to wear.  Dark grey yoga pants, skin tight from the buttocks to the ankles, covered at their base by shin high black boots.  A lighter grey tank top underneath a solid purple, long sleeved, skin tight t-shirt.  The outfit is completed by a gray sweater, lighter than the pants, but darker than the tank top, with two vertical stripes of black lace down each side of the front opening, which I did choose to leave unbuttoned.  Yes, it could have been my clothes that put me in this mood.
    However, maybe it was the glasses.  I’m wearing my glasses today, a rare occasion to say the least.  In fact, the reason I’m wearing my glasses is, because of my usual unwillingness to take out my contacts, I have developed inflammatory conjunctivitis in my right eyeball.  It is very painful and I have wondered more than once today whether or not it would help to simply tear the sphere of torture clean out of my head.  I decided against it, went with the glasses, and here I am, looking quite smart and sophisticated in my new spectacles.  Certainly, the glasses may have played a role in this writer-ish sensation.
    Perhaps it was my hair.  It’s very artistic looking.  I create this look by going to bed at night, waking up in the morning, and doing nothing to my hair.  It’s a high tech process that has taken me years to perfect.  It’s whimsical.  It reminds people of Albert Einstein, which will give the impression of genius to the most important people.  Definitely the hair may have had something to do with it.
    Look at me, describing myself as a writer with such arbitrary characteristics based on outward appearance.  Haven’t we all been taught our entire lives we should never judge a book by its cover?  Someone shouldn’t be able to just glance at me and say, “You know, I bet that girl is a writer.”  Writing is personal, its soul searching.  Someone should be obligated to read my work, and thus, become acquainted with me, and then decide that I am indeed a writer. 
    So, I woke up today, feeling like a writer.  Why?  A more accurate answer may be that I very recently discovered my love for writing.  That isn’t to say I haven’t always known I had a small talent for writing, or that I was unaware of the slight enjoyment I felt when writing papers for classes.  But I had never really spent time on a paper before recently, had never really let myself become consumed by the words and emotions conveyed on paper.  Once I allowed these things to happen, it became very clear to me that this had been my passion all along.
    Perhaps I was in denial.  I grew up with the implicit expectation to do something “great” with my life, which implied something highly profitable, and though I fantasized about committing myself to one of the humanities, it never seemed a true possibility, these interests I had were simply hobbies.  I was lecturing a friend of mine on following his dreams, and doing what made him happy, and I thought to myself, “You’re being very hypocritical, Leslie.”  Having a baby early in life, and going through the things I’ve been through, these aren’t excuses to spend my life doing something I don’t love.
    I woke up today and I felt like a writer.  Maybe you disagree.  But, I know in my heart that this is my passion, and I’d rather spend my life being unsuccessful at something I’m passionate about than live a somewhat successful life with no fire to it.