I went on my first official vacation to Las Vegas last week. I slept, drank and spent all the money I wanted. My cell phone had no service almost the entire 4 days I was there. The wind barely allowed me to walk. Yet, I had the most sleep and relaxation I had in a while. I didn't think about work the entire time I was there, but before I boarded my flight TO Vegas, I was really bothered by work.
I always told people that I was a writer, but was I? Was being a writer just a fairytale that I could tell my future children? I felt like I was tricking myself into believing this lie I've told so many times that even I started to believe. Writers are people who sit at a desk all day and do exactly that--write. I didn't. I only found time to write in between notarizing, teaching, tutoring, running a daycare, bartending and other miscellaneous shit that filled those 24 hours. I wasn't a writer. I was a dreamer with an internet connection.
On my vacay, I was really craving Panda Express. In my fortune cookie, it said:

♥P.
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