At some point the creative well runs dry and you get tired of yelling into the dark and empty night. I feel like a kid in a cornfield in Kansas somewhere screaming at the top of his lungs hoping someone in New York will hear him. I always thought these feelings of isolation and alienation are true and universal themes, but I have noticed lately that I have become somewhat well adjusted and a little on the bland side. So, maybe I’m getting too old to make the magic with the words or maybe I’ve always been boring and having a semi-daily obligation to write something has finally made me face my vanilla existence.


I miss the beginning of my relationship with blogger. When we started, things were real negative and I had some residual teenage angst and real issues to talk about. Nowadays, I don’t gaze longingly of into the distance nor am I naive enough to think the grass will be greener on the other side. That other side can be a new town or relationship or career. The truth is, the grass is always somewhat green and somewhat brown and no amount of neglect of fertilizer will tip it too far in either direction. There is a yin and yang to the universe that I am starting to understand and accept.


I guess what I’m getting at is I have felt extremely uninspired of late. Maybe I have been watching too much TV or getting too caught up in the things that occupy a 20 something. It petrifies me to think that I’ll be 30 soon. I’m not afraid of getting old. Lord knows I haven’t been a partying kid in years (if ever really) and I certainly don’t long for staying out late or having a huge social circle. Instead, I long for a little bit of that spark that makes life interesting and by proxy, worth writing about in a blog. It just hasn’t been in effect lately. So maybe I do need to set the reset button on my life and shave out a Mohawk or move to Portland. Until then, I’m afraid I will be boring old me and I’m finally OK with that.