Wow. I knew I shouldn’t have tried journal writing. I wasn’t even aware of what I was writing, and now that I look back at it…what was I thinking? Jorgepastalongjohnchickenfinger…What?

The composition notebook had looked so pretty at the store; the black and white cover and crisp, blank pages. I wanted so bad to be a writer. To fill up pages with my work. But instead…I write about a zookeeper who had a liger? I think possibly I have some issues.

“I’ll help interpret it,” my friend Sophia, the aspiring psychologist, told me. “Okay. Obviously, you’re upset that your name is so short, and you’re kind of hungry. You have some self-esteem issues…hence the ‘I feel so stupid.’ You’re hinting for people to buy you clothes for your birthday…and deep down, you’re tired of your whole ‘good girl’ thing, and just want to go party! Now, am I good, or am I good?”

I was left a bit speechless. “Um, Soph, maybe you should pick a new career?”

“Oh, and, you really want a pet french fry.”