I have found my literary soulmate.

It was a momentous occasion for me, as recently I have been feeling that I am strange and a misfit. No one else writes in their diary 100x a week, or sits during their frees writing and writing. No one reads as much as I do it would seem or just loves writing stuff down. No one else is verbally imcompetant like me but can write stuff down pretty coherently.

So meeting my literary soulmate, I've realized that's all just the tip of the iceberg. Because he's just one of millions of wonderful writers who exist out there who write and put their thoughts down and speak through the pen, not the mouth. He can understand what it means to write, he understands preoccupations and most importantly, he just seemed to get me.

All those things I worry about, being strange and neurotic and emotional are GOOD for writing. The way I go back into the past and play events over and over again, imagining what might have happened is GOOD. And it was just so goddamn weird because I can't find anyone else here who's so dorky and wacky and strange but there he was, in real life sitting opposite me. A late 20 year old bespeckled Canadian man and someone who understood.

It's unexplainable. He made me think about myself and why I write, questions I don't even ask myself because I just do. I am what I write. And I feel so happy now because writing is everything to me, books are everything and now I can see that I'm not some freak. That it's ok to be who I am.

And it's sad it's taken me 4 years to realize that. But now I'm here and I'm who I am, I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.