The punctuation kind, that is.
I am a social work and sociology student, with an alleged minor in writing. I am not sure at which point I decided I wanted to enter child welfare, but I believe Mrs. Solomon was cooing over how perfect I was for social work in my last year in high school.
I was a part of the IB Program at Richard Montgomery in Rockville, Maryland. Social work felt like a strange deviation from my friends and classmates. They were going to expensive schools to be journalists and screenwriters and violinists. At the time, it felt inadequate.
I am now done with my second year of college and nothing feels more important than, if not social work, then social action. Community service. Whether this is a reprioritization in my life or a psychological defense against the idea that I am a failure, I have embraced this chosen career new vigor. Or, at least, I am strolling towards it with purpose, instead of sauntering vaguely towards it or meandering around it.
When I am not very serious about heteronormativity, I am a terrible socialist and enjoy consuming corporate products like horror films titled The Substantive Adjective and jeans on sale for ten dollars at the back of stores. I spend a lot of time watching both excellently written comedramas and children's shows that star cute guys. I am eagerly waiting for the next season of Project Runway to finally start this August.
I devoutly read The Washington Post Magazine and fiction about zombies, old gods, and/or Irish people. I buy mom magazines from grocery stores and enjoy looking at the pictures as I rarely find the time or ingredients to make the things inside. And I enjoy reading star charts and the Major Arcana, even if I say I don't believe in it. I'm an existentialist, you know.
But I still believe in dragons and big fish.
One of my mom magazine creations: Oreo dragons.
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