On writing and other matters

I've often wondered what makes a person begin to write. How does a person decide that they are a writer, and how do they get discovered by the rest of the world? Why do some authors who appear to write nonsensical trash become valued over others who's writing has the ability to pierce and change the soul? There is no reason at this moment for this rant, but rather my curiosity has led me to share this with you.

I have been pushed to my limits during this holiday season. It seems that schoolwork is a never ending list of "to dos" while work also crouches in, threatening to rob what time is left. The responsibilities of life do not seem to weigh me down as much as my attitude about how I want things to go. The little spoiled selfish child that we all have within us takes every opportunity to blackmail me in order to gain a prominent standing in my world. All I want to do is sleep for a day (or three), crochet, read some books, go snowshoeing and snowboarding and have a little bit of relaxing fun. I want my husband to do these things with me, yet our friends, work, family, home all require bits of ourselves that when we are done satisfying others, we have nothing left for ourselves. Ugh. It bites, and I have no shame in saying that.

I suppose my focus should change to the t-shirt I received yesterday while at a staff breakfast for work. We were given shirts that listed the attributes of our goals on them. I chose "Adventurous," since I feel that my being can be summed up in that word. So instead of griping, I should look at all of these mundane tasks and obligations as opportunities for adventure and discovery. Okay. I'll try.