It has been a week since my last writing class and after being instructed to write as much as possible between then and the next class ( tonight) I failed miserably.

In all honesty I haven't felt like writing. I've thought about sitting and writing compulsively but also compulsively have created distraction upon distraction to stay away from you. I just haven't felt like it. Different?

I will attend class tonight with my head down and eyes focused on anything but the Prof. She is so good at locking eyes with me...had to read out loud the last 3 classes. Great for my humility.

Heart pounding and ears burning. It's a nauseating feeling, but what a rush. I sit up, straighten my headband or fix my scarf, any form of distraction to the on lookers is a positive. Don't listen but look at my perfectly wrapped scarf. Don't listen, don't compare...don't make this into something. What is it with that. How is that the passion that drives this madness. As final words of our assigned piece roll off my quivering tongue, I exhale and look up at the 12 cling-ons that share my madness and their smile, watery eyes or giggles are why I agreed to read in the first place. If I cannot take the heat from their judging stares how can I move on to the rest of you. Out there and everything else...

I also received my official confirmation ... from the following 3:

Now I wait, there's no turning back just yet. I mean, I'm putting it out there. I put it out there. Que sera sera!!...la la la la la la!!!!!

The thought of entering 4 years of the madness that my husband last night said is " literature" is both terrifying and addictive. The pressure, deadlines and the thrill of more...How can I not go now? Look at that photo...where's Waldo?

I see Andreea.