Somebody told me this week that writing was a cathartic experience. Writing down one's emotions, takes power away from the emotion itself. Sadness doesn't seem nearly as desperate. Anger doesn't seem quite as consuming. So dear pen, take it away.

At nineteen, I am nowhere near where I want to be. I for whatever reason can't seem to finish anything I start.
I quit at a four year school, going after my bachelor's degree in sociology/social work with hopes to continue on to get my masters. I traded all of that for an associates degree at a no name community college. Not for me. I could fill an entire page with how unhappy I am there. But I WILL stick it out there, get my degree, and move on.

I observed for the first time today. God, I know now that this is what I was made to do. Those wide eyed kids want nothing more than to please you. My first class called me Mrs. Wires or Miss Aguire. Apparently my last name was a little too tricky! So the next class called me Miss Erin. Which was pretty cool. One little guy told me that I was pretty and asked if he could make me a plastic pineapple smoothie. He was a real sweetheart.

Emma Grace visited today. She is one of the only things that can make me forget all the crap. It's impossible to be grumpy when she's around. She left me a note on my bed that says, "Dear Erin, I love you. Love, Emma." :)

Tory and I keep having conversations lately about how I can finally become happy with where I am. He thinks I need to make a list. Honestly, I don't think I know how to make a short term list. All of my list consist of long term goals, jobs, marriage, kids, the works. I probably should work on that list... It's a valid way of going about it. It would be nice however to know what exactly it is that I'd like to accomplish.

I'm not sure where I expected myself to be at 19. I see people I graduated with getting married and having babies, and more than anything, that is what I want. But unfortunately, it's not the time for that. At least for now.