stream of conciousness

i know i need to start writing every day. im kicking myself in the ass because i know what ive been working on for so long isn't going to get published. i need to learn how to write all over again. i need to know how you accomplish something. i feel like all i have wanted for so long is just to get published anywhere. i wouldn't care if it ended up shredded for bedding at the bottom of someone's hamster cage. i want it so bad. i think you were right when you said id cry if i got rejected. im preparing myself, i already know.
at home, i have potato soup cooking in my crock pot my grandparents gave me but i have never really used. i learned last night i love cooking and listening to music. somehow this makes me want to write. it could become part of my process: i cook and then i write. it takes my mind off things i need to do, things i wish i hadn't done, things i want to do, all my hang ups.
i wish it would snow more. i hate it when the world turns grey after the first snow. i want it pure white, full of light, like it was the first night, a big snow storm. i would love to be stuck inside with you right now. isn't it weird that everytime i write on this i always write to you? in my journal, entries are directed to you that you never read. i feel comfortable writing things to you but not letting you read them. i hope those things will change.
i love you and i need to go. this was random, but i hope someone understands.

ill post the story that night get published tomorrow.

what i want for christmas:

a great dane with floppy ears named jules
an apartment with wooden floors and a fireplace tucked away down a quiet street, tall windows and a place for me to grow flowers
my two sisters as next door neighbors
a room of my own, to write how i please whenever i please
my grandpa's memory back
my grandma's life back for just one day
one long night with you that never tires me, never leads me to quarrel, just love, our hands, lips, soft words, a glass of wine that never empties, me in my best dress, until the last darkness is floating out of the grey morning sky
the promise that things can still last forever

love,
lauren michelle