"If you have an art that needs practice, stop neglecting it."

I haven't written a blog post in months, which means I haven't written anything of personal value during that time. For the past four years (dear god, has it been that long?) this blog has served as the recycling receptacle for my word vomit, a place where I could toss any and every thought and feel that it had accomplished something, had some merit since it was posted on the internet. You know, for people to see. This thought process would be perfectly sane if I shared this URL with anyone, or if I actually liked people reading my poetry. However, I hate blogging and feel like a pompous prick by telling someone casually to check out poem number 48 on my blog; it's a bit too self-assured for my likes.

But things change, life changes, and so will this blog. Today I was catching up on the second season of Girls, an HBO show that my Dad said I had to watch back in August. Ray, a 33 year-old coffee shop manager on the show told Marnie, a pretty twenty-something with an unfulfilling hostess job, that she needed to start doing what she wanted to do. If she wanted to curate, she needed to open her own gallery. If she wanted to sing, she needed to sing. A very simple solution that must be accompanied by a strong will to actually accomplish something. So this is how I am manifesting Ray's words: I'm writing.

My name is Michelle and I am a 22 year-old New Jerseyian who has fallen irrevocably in love with Albany, New York. I like to think of myself as an intellectual but rarely practice any intellectual activities, filling my time by slowly checking books off my "must read" list and getting drunk at local shows. I'm about to get my B.A. in English from a small liberal arts school in Loudonville, NY and have carved out a niche for writers there the past four years, re-instating the English Society and helping build some foundation for a writing community. Right now I'm interning at a local magazine as a Public Relations Intern, but spend most of my time alone in the office looking for jobs or editing the stories my supervisor sends me via e-mail. I also do a shit ton of service, I'm talking seventeen hours per week. I spend Fridays and Saturdays at a local art gallery explaining to a local alcoholic that no, I do not want to buy his plastic baby bibs and watching the heat slowly rise hour per hour as I wait for some real visitors to drop by. I also run a Culture Club for kids once a week. I plan out activities like drum building or beading to inject a little bit of cultural literacy into their everyday lives. It's fun and I love the hour and a half that I spend with them, but I doubt that I'm making a huge impact on how they see the world. This is problematic seeing as my senior Capstone project is based on my work with them; an incredibly long paper that I have yet to start and have yet to feel passionate about.

Beyond the day to day things I've been doing the past few months, I've been actively seeking a job doing something that I can stomach. I have a lead at a PR firm in Manhattan and know that I could work in the non-profit sector in Albany, but am caught between the whole "Do I go for my dream" or "Do what I know makes me happy" dilemma. To be honest, I'm scared. I'm scared that my neurosis and need to be loved is going to hold me back from stepping out of my comfort zone and trying to be that person I want to be. I'm scared that I'm not as driven as everyone thinks I am, scared that they'll see that I'm lazy and un-producing, as complacent as the next woman. I'm hoping that these daily posts will affirm that I can accomplish something; I just need to start.

This is me, this is my art, this is what I must do.