mis-directed

I was laying in the grass behind my house listening to the children echo in the park across the way, when I heard, "I'm going to be an illustrator someday." I rolled over to spot who had said it. A skinny, dark-skinned, third grader with a lot of hair, held a notebook and pencil in her mouth as she swung across the monkey bars. She dropped to the wood chips and announced again, "I know a girl who knows how to cartoon, but she won't teach me."

I can cartoon! I can teach you! I thought, and added I'm an illustrator!

Then I realized that I'm not.

I was offered a writing job, and I rejected it, due to a scheduling conflict. My life was too busy. I had three jobs already, and one was full time. All I've written since then has been pretty awful.

So, as I was reminded of who I want to be, and recognized that I'm too tired to actually get to it, I discovered that here I am, existing, but without any real direction.

I've got my priorities mixed up. I need to eat, sleep, church, and be an illustrator. So tomorrow I'm going to wake up, and be one.