My handwriting fills the yellow pages of the legal pad with its carefully constructed y's and g's- crossed just so. The j's are not quite as neat and the e's sometimes end up looking like i's.
But it fills the page relatively neatly. I am only copying questions on the page, considering how I will answer even more questions about why I am doing this, why I like to think I'm maybe, possibly, in some small way, qualified for this unknown.
The legal pad is my Dad's, one I asked if I could have when I was at home, writing yet another essay for some other life after graduation application. It is neater, nicer, cleaner than the cheap ones I bought for myself. I am listening to a CD my sister burnt for me- full of songs I find I like but yet have no idea who sings them.
I am writing, careful letters, neat sentences. Trying for what seems like the hundredth time to put the uncertain wisps of reasoning and discernment into paragraphs that reveal where I believe I am being led.
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