As I sit on my bed looking around the room of my childhood I realize this room while comforting no longer holds the same importance (for lack of a better word) it once did.  Then I realize I’ve grown up, maybe not entirely, but I have matured.  This doesn’t mean I’m not still creative or don’t have childlike qualities but I don’t need this space as much as I once did.  It’s a very bittersweet feeling.

These last few days at home have felt very strange, I can only liken it to visiting a favorite place and realizing while you’re at the same location the place itself has changed so much it’s not the same.

Tomorrow I go to Alabama to visit my sick/recovering great-grandmother and as happy as I am to see her, for the first time in 6-7 years & for what could possibly be the last time, I clearly remember how boring Montgomery,  Alabama is.  It’s not where I would want to spend my Thanksgiving break and I say that in the bluntest, most honest way possible.  But I think when it’s all said and done, I will be glad I went.  Also sometimes we have to do things not because they are “super fun” but because they are necessary 🙂

What else…hmm..my life is very stressful right now, but more because I am letting things pile up thus am creating more dark corners where the stress monsters can hide out.  It seems like everything from relationships, to schoolwork, to family, to an old, plain & simple fear of change and not needing old things anymore is colliding.

Currently I’m having more than writer’s block, something I’m usually able to cure by simply writing, I’m having writer’s depression (does that exist or did I make that up?).  It’s not that I cannot write rather all the things in my life are preventing me from sitting down and writing because every time I do, I get distracted/my thoughts run off in other directions.

The Solution = I need to get my personal life in order, usually I’m able to separate the personal from the professional or at least turn the personal issues into fuel for the professional but this time that’s not happening.

Or maybe it’s as simple as stopping trying and doing.  Again, it’s not that I can’t write (haha, I’m doing that now), it’s just that I can’t write about what I want to write about.  Also I’m restless, writing is the one thing I have done all my life (with some minor/major long breaks during some rough patches in my past).  But writing has been the solution to all of my problems…what happens when THE solution or the cure no longer works???

Or maybe I’m thinking too much, my dad has said before that I like to think I’m deeper than I really am, he has been right in the past, he probably is now…

…Okay well I’m giving myself until December 1st…that’s the night of my literary society’s (like sororities with more of an academic focus) formal.  Now off to doing…wish me luck 🙂

How do you solve your personal/professional problems???

Whimsically Yours,



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