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

Twenty-six years ago, my parents put me in the back seat of whatever car they owned and started out for Disney World. I was their first child. This was their first trip as more than husband and wife and my first trip as anything. At one, any experiences you have are almost completely lost within the depths of your ever-expanding mind. The only thing I can recall from the trip is being in the back of the car one night as we headed south. There was a knit blanket of various, warm colors over me. Mickey Mouse didn't make my memory's cut.

There were other, smaller trips from that time on, but nothing which ventured too far from home. Most didn't even leave the state.

I've wanted to begin travelling for the past six years. Every time I'd plan something, I'd back out of it or find an excuse not to go. Friends around the states and different countries have offered me places to rest my head and feel welcome, eliminating the need for expensive and sterile hotels, yet I wouldn't budge from my small corner of Pennsylvania.

It's about time it all started changing. This year has been one of life-altering changes. Experiences that have picked me up and kicked me in the ass to really start living and enjoying the time I have here.

Next month I'll be headed to Orlando. It's come full circle. Though I wont be cruising to the hum of rubber on pavement, I'll be experiencing a first. Flying. No, I've never flown. Nervous? Not really. Not about the actual flight, anyway. The hordes of travellers running and bustling about in the airport is the real worry.

While I'm down there, I hope to visit the house where Kerouac lived and wrote The Dharma Bums. My friends have also promised me book and music stores, among other things. And there's always the people. Meeting and conversing with new and interesting people. It's one of the most overlooked gifts of life. Possibily due to the fact that interesting people are rare.

I'm hoping this trip will fill me with ideas and words as well. Writing in these past months has been a difficult task. Everything I scribble, I'm more dissatisfied with than usual. The ideas are aching to burst from my pen, but they've been held back by something. Maybe the sun of Florida can burn it away.

Tickets are booked. Arrangements have been made. The only thing I've got left to do is to decide which book I'll be reading on the flight down.

Kerouac's home where he wrote The Dharma Bums.