The blogger that stopped blogging

I'm a frustrated writer...

Since I can remember, I have always dreamed of being a journalist.

A food critique.

An author.

I like books.

I have read hundreds and hundreds of books.

I thank my mom for buying me my very first Sweet Valley Kids at a tender age of eight. Every night I pour into the pages of SVK and read about the adventures do Jessica and Elizabeth Wakefield.

Then as years passed by, my taste in books changed. I moved to R. L. Stine Fear Street.

Then to classics.

Shakespeare.

Charles Dickens.

Great Expectations.

You name it. I swore that one day I would write a book and be a publisher writer. I took BS Communications in college.

Reality set in however, and I realized that I need a day job. 

So now, I'm a boring corporate stooge. Writing emails instead of writing a fictitious story to share to the world.

Don't get me wrong, it pays my bills and I get to see the world. I'm not complaining.

I'm more of mourning the death of the carefree Nikki. The twenty something writer wannabe. 

The Filo chick who lives on Red Bull and Marlboros. 

I look at the mirror and I see a thirty year old yuppy who works ridiculous hours.

She is still a complete mess in the love department but she's getting there.

Now I rely on this... 

The closest thing to being a writer.

My audience? 

Myself....

Sometimes growing up is a bitch! 

❤️ N.