the world would be a better place for all of us if every stall was a handicap stall. who even uses the normal stalls anymore? no handrails, no legroom. no good. the handicap stall is a sanctuary. a room within a room. you feel safe, protected. balanced. you don't get that with the 3 foot wide dungeon stall. who wants to poo in a tunnel? not this guy.

moving on, i was nervous this morning about turning in my first short story to my creative writing class for workshop. i've been intimidated all semester by these people who seem to know so much more than me. all these people who say these insightful and intelligent things and ask ultra productive questions. i don't say insightful intelligent things and i don't ask ultra productive questions. it's not me. i feel like i have to be falsely intellectual in that class. but this morning i felt differently. after reading a couple of other people's short stories and finding out that i am every bit as good or bad as they are, i decided that none of that other stuff matters. the proof is in the pudding.

why do i use that phrase? i don't even know what pudding has to do with anything. why does it hold proof? does it retain fingerprints well? i don't understand.

anyway, i figure that, in a class about writing, the way you prove yourself to be worthy or good is in the writing itself. not in how many intelligent things you can say or ask in class. i feel judged because i don't say anything. i feel like people have written me off as someone who doesn't belong in the class. i wasn't sure i belonged either until this morning. things will be different from now on.

(this class is the most important class of my college career to date, and it's not even required for anything.)