I hate admitting this to myself, and indeed to the world. Or at least to the handful of people who read this whenever I post a link to my blog on facebook...
I love writing. It's what I want to go to grad school for in the fall. It's what I want to do with my life, even if I'm not at all sure how that will play out.
My problem is that for as much as I love writing, when I have free time, I very seldom feel like sitting down and writing. Heck, I have thank you notes that I keep forgetting about. I really don't know if my problem is lack of motivation or inspiration or if I'm just plain lazy. I do know that a writer is supposed to want to write all the time. We're supposed to love being alone, and recording and emoting. Unfortunately, I have just never been this way.
I miss having classes and classmates to inspire and motivate me. I miss having an impetus to write. I hate that I seem to need it, but without it I have not had that push. Well, I had a moment last night where that changed and it was just plain exciting.
After work last night, a few friends and I stuck around to watch Tangled. Afterward, my friend Flo and I drove around and talked and listened to some Mumford and Sons, a group of extraordinary gentlemen who never fail to inspire. I don't know if it was the balmy night, the music or the camaraderie, but approximately a quarter into my drive home, I was seized with a physical urge to write. My fingers literally both ached and itched to move pen across paper. Words and phrases streamed into my head and I couldn't remember them fast enough. At first, I thought maybe I'd just try to remember it well enough until I got home and quickly write it down there. But I was afraid I wouldn't get everything. Sometimes when I have sudden bursts of inspiration or if I hear someone say something that I find interesting, I save it in my phone as a draft for a text message. However, in this case, I just didn't think that would be sufficient. So I plunged my hand into my purse on the seat next to me, my fingers searched wildly for a pen. I found one quickly, and I grabbed an old Sonic receipt from the floor. I decided I'd park somewhere for a moment and write everything down. I pulled into an empty Whataburger parking lot and parked beneath a dim streetlight. And while it was fairly short, I scribbled out several lines of a poem. I breathed out a long breath when it was done; I felt a sort of physical relief and just sat for a minute or two, listening to the distant drone of the cd playing. Finally, I started my car and headed home.