You know what stinks? Realizing, quietly and embarrassingly, that you are not that great of a writer. I always thought writing was my one exceptional skill, and lately between my internship stumbles, countless unanswered or rejected job applications, and patronage of exceptional writing on the web via blogs and what-not– I have realized that my writing is nothing special. Perhaps it could be if I had had a better foundation, and perhaps it still can be. But right now it’s the khaki pants in your closet– versatile enough to wear anywhere, just barely passing for “dressed up”, but certainly not stylish enough to make an impression. And I am still trying to decide if knowing this is good or not. I know that writing is a continual process in which one expands and contracts, hoping to eventually snap the band and soar, but right now I am, ever so lovingly, folding up my dreams in a soft little square and putting it in a drawer to be pulled out and sighed over when I think about where my life could have gone.