“Amelia! Come get your clothes!” Yelled my mom.

  I ran down the stairs and into their bedroom. I retrieved my clean laundry when my mom said,” honey? Don’t you think you are a little too old to have me do your laundry?”

It was true. I was twenty-two and yet still living in my parents house.

I went to college and was top of my class throughout my school years, but it was because I wanted to become a full time writer that hindered me from getting a house and other things that a lot of my classmates already had.

          You see I was different. I wanted to be a full time writer and yet everyone else in my class either was going to be a doctor, nurse, or a teacher. All the important and highly paid jobs.

I’d always roll my eyes when my classmates would say that they wanted to be a doctor or a teacher.Typical.

But when anyone would ask me, the response was, “oh.” Not a exciting “oh”, but like I pity you that you want to be that “oh”.

But being a writer is an important, hard job to do. People just don’t know how hard it is. Like when you have writers block and you’re living in your parent’s house.

Okay, yeah this was me. IS me right now.

Finally, coming back to my senses I went out of the room and carried the plastic basket of clothes up to my room to put away.

My room was what I had in High School. It was a pretty awesome room. With its light yellow walls and tons of space, but now what covered the floor was wads of paper. All of it was from my ideas, my story ideas that would be good for only a second of my life on earth. A second! I couldn’t even think of one good story for a whole minute without ripping it out and throwing it away.

‘I am such a paper waster!’I thought.

The End

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