Needless to say, this librarian was known for being terrible anyway. If she had a kind bone in her body, it must've broke and never fully healed. Thinking back, I'm astounded that she was hired to be around children.
It has taken me years to get over this hang-up. You may be thinking "wow, loser, you're still hung-up on what a school librarian told you when you were a kid?" Uhm, yeah, jerkface. Yeah. Sorry that I don't have the flawless coping skills you possess. We can't be all like you.
Ahem, aside that, yes it's been a long journey to accept my handwriting. Now that I look at it, both cursive and print, I realize that it ain't that bad. It's not as neat and orderly as my father's (which I tried to emulate, being the daddy's girl I am), or looping and on-the-line as my mother's, but wow... it's like I am my own person or something.
I've come to love my semi-legible handwriting. It is a part of me, one that is hurrying to get everything down. Could I slow down? Oh yeah, but then my arm cramps from being held back. So it's a balance.
Attached: evidence of my handwriting.
I would post other samples, but they are of WIPs and journal entries... so yeah, just have the above instead.
