Manic Frustration “If I do not write to empty my mind, I go mad.” ~Lord Byron

The jack-hammering tones of an air gun rattle through the shop just outside my office. Buddy Guy's licks flow from my computer speakers like a fine scotch. I've got a truckload of thoughts rolling down endless expanses of highway carved through my mind. Outside, it's a chilly, wet April day. Smoke-colored skies.

This morning, I woke up and sat down in front of the typer for the first time in what seems like years. The early hours, following what little sleep I seem to find these days, have become a window of inspiration. Words drip onto the page mimicking the coffee pot steaming in the kitchen. Eventually, the page and my cup are full.

I spend a brief time on our second-floor balcony most mornings. Every time I open the door to step out, I'm reminded of the need of a good chair to lounge in and soak up the morning sun while I let my thoughts pour out.

The itch. The need to write has embedded itself within me again. It's not that I was worried about losing it. It seems as though any writer finds themselves less than inspired from time to time. Or maybe we let our thoughts brew like moonshine through a still until they're pure. Whatever the case, the cask is full again.

Soon, I'll spend time wandering through the park in the fading light of dusk. These late-night work hours are coming to an end. I've got more important things to have running through my mind than the constant rattles and blasts of air tools and belching engine brakes.

One thought in particular has been filling me with warmth and peace. Every morning on the balcony, I can still picture her standing beneath the light leaning against the door. Smoke curling from between her lips. The soft look in her eyes and the elegant curve of her smile.

It's a photograph etched in my memory. One that I'm hoping is a glimpse of what lies ahead.

Tonight, I'll turn the key to my tiny pickup and drive forty-five minutes down the line. Step through the door of my apartment, wash the work day away, and find a few moments of relaxation before falling into a dream world.

In the morning, I'll write again.

It's incredible how things can fall into place. How, from a seemingly chaotic existence, life unfolds and sets the pieces together. The picture takes form right before your eyes. There are still points to my life that create stress and worry but, as a whole, I'm feeling good. I can finally see the semblance of the picture. The pieces are being set into place.



It's been two months since I've moved to Scranton. I read more. Spend more time with incredible friends. Lose myself in hidden nooks of Nay Aug park. And, finally, inspiration is seeping back into my life. Words once lost have begun to take shape. Spill onto the pages.

The warming days and blazing, brilliant sunsets bring a change too great not to mention. Thoughts are deeper. Increasingly clear. It almost makes the worry of living paycheck to paycheck melt away.


There's renewed happiness in my life. A connection and peace that I believed to be forever broken is being restored. I've actually caught myself smiling more than I've been feeling burdened. Some questions are yet to be answered, but exploring them has become enjoyable.

I know what I want. And I've taken steps to acquire it without hesitation. We've only one chance to make our lives what we want. Many wait for the doors to open and show them the way.

Don't wait.

They never open on their own.

The doors of the Hilton opened to the street and out I went into the slight bustle of traffic with a tinge of Jack and Coke resting on my mind. Sun shone off the tan bricks as it set, warming everything around me. It was a beautiful day. It wasn't even Spring yet. It was the end of my first full week as a Scranton resident.

It's a new beginning.

Walking along the street, I felt peaceful. I didn't even know I was smiling until I stopped to look at the light filtering through the buildings between Adams and Washington before casting an array of warmth over the courthouse.

It's amazing what a change of scenery can do for the mind. How the longer days filled with sun and brilliance can lift you up. For too long, I've felt burdened. Burdened by stresses, some I brought on myself, and unhappiness with my situation. Now that I've taken the time to change it and get serious about turning new corners and opening new doors, I've never felt better.

My inspiration to write had been lacking. My inspiration to do anything had been lacking. Maybe the change of season has a lot to do with it, but I cannot deny how the other changes have turned things around for me. I feel energized. I feel lighter.

I feel...excited.

Though I'm still settling in and the search for a new job continues, I already feel at home.

It feels good to be home.

           In the world.
             
                             In myself.

Photo by Thorsten

Big things are happening. Big things that are keeping me from the pen, the pages, and various other whims lately. There are boxes strewn about the house waiting to be hauled to my new location in Scranton. The move has been long overdue, but it's finally a reality.