Writing

My mom thinks I could be a writer.
Author.
Whatever.

Not as my main profession, of course.
Later in life.
When I have stories to tell.
Or something.

But I hate this idea.
And for some reason I kept thinking about it a lot today.

Now don't get me wrong.
I love it when my mom offers advice and her thoughts. Opinions. Ideas.
But oddly enough, whenever she brings it up I want to run out of the room.

I know you're going to read this, mom, but I had to get it out there.
I love you.
I just don't love writing.
At least not enough to consciously write something that is hopefully worthy of publishing.
I don't care if it's even along the lines of children's stories.
I couldn't do it.
I just couldn't.
So I won't.