A new city and the sudden realization that nobody reads this.

Hello, I'm writing you now from San Francisco, Ca. It's hard to believe that I am on to my fourth hotel. I have a sneaking suspicion that this will be my last hotel but I have no fucking idea what I'm gonna do next. As fortunate as I feel about "knowing" what I wanted to do growing up, I think I may have been a bit too specific in my major: Hotel Management. Kinda hard to get a job in Marketing with a degree like that. It's all about how you market yourself. Maybe it's just the typical jitters involved in a new place, but I'm missing Texas more now than I have in a long time. Christmas was great. It was spent with family in Southern California. With a three year old niece, I'm now realizing that my domination of presents is over; it's about time. I guess with old age comes the actual enjoyment of giving rather than receiving. I wonder if anyone ever reads this thing. If so, are they concerned that the content is nil? There isn't any form or structure, just thoughts on the screen. Scrambled thoughts at that. There isn't really a roadmap when I sit down and start typing. I guess this is a pretty good representation of what is really going on in my head: nothing. Just thoughts. Random thoughts. Like a slideshow of things thought about. I wish I could string them all together but that just isn't the case. I like how when people talk about other people who have changed jobs and the person they're telling says, "That ABSOLUTELY fits him! Why didn't I see it sooner?!" I wonder what people say about my career. Do they say that? If I change it, will they say it? There's only one way to find out. My Houston trip has been planned for March and I can't be happier about it. Back to the thought about not having a plan on here: some people use the blog as a way to reach people. Not here. In fact, what this has turned into (notice only one author) has become something completely different. No longer am I concerned over the response: there isn't one. Just easy reading with no life pointers or weight loss tips or anything that can actually benefit your life. Just mine. In fact, I think I wouldn't care or even notice if not a single soul read this. It's a strange thought. At age 26 I think I write at a 18 year old reading level and it scares the shit out of me. Someone asked me what my dream job was. I responded, "a travel writer" without really thinking. I would hate that because I know deep down that only a publication like "Ranger Rick" would pick me up. Even then, some of this stuff is FAR below the high level of journalism of such an esteemed publication. I was told yesterday that "journalism is what is killing writing". What the fuck does that mean?