I am a writer who writes almost only when coerced. I don’t know why I’m like this. I enjoy writing; I’m pretty good at it, and I have enough free time that I could easily write constantly. I mean, I quit my job as an ad copy writer to become a grad student in a writing program, so clearly, writing is “my thing.” It’s a thing I’ve had a hard time embracing though, and I’ve always felt kind of weird about it. I’ve only sporadically kept journals, and I rarely admit to others that I want to be a writer. I say I want to edit; it feels more official and practical.

Unfortunately, grad school is the opposite of official and practical, and while I slave over thesis work and learning theory, I haven’t done anything I like in months. When I’m not doing homework, I’m thinking about it, and when I’m thinking about it, I’m sitting paralyzed on my couch. I realize this isn’t healthy. My boyfriend wonders why I don’t just get up and do something, if sitting all day depresses me. I wonder that too. He insists that if when I was busy I was happy, I’ll be happier if I get busier. I admit, his argument has some logic to it. So here I am. Today, I’m starting a blog. And tomorrow I’ll write again and go to the gym, and maybe I’ll become someone who isn’t suffering from couch paralysis. Hopefully.