This is my life lately.
Crazy as always.
But, better busy than bored, right?
Another week in Massachusetts put a pause on everything else.
It was successful in the fact that I visited a few more friends, saw family and got a number of to-do's checked off my list.
Lately...I have been writing like crazy!
Remember when I said I was having some writer's block? Well, that has subsided and I can't get words down quick enough.
It's funny where I find solace.
Last week, I was in kind of a funk. My mood seemed to be not the norm. Although I am a melancholy girl at times, that part of me is just for reminiscent purposes. My outer core is generally always happy. I have a fun spirit. I am not the type to stay down. But last week, I was sad.
I didn't even know why really. A bit because I wanted to write. And the writer's block was impending. I was away from Ty for another week, which always has me in an indifferent mood.
But besides the smiles that I got from my Scarlett at the playground, that seemed to comfort me, I was apathetic.
It was like a dark cloud was hovering over me. Of course, every human being has these instants.
It was in those moments that I turned on the music, sat down and... I couldn't write. It irked me. I closed my laptop and left the house.
I watched the old man at the grocery store shuffling along slowly with his squealing cart. I thought about how he, too, had a story that no one knew. I watched the father at the playground pushing his daughter on the swing. Their connection was fetching. I watched the couple arguing in their car. How bitter they were. But you could tell they were crazy about each other.
It was those 3 days of watching, that I started to realize something. I have a tendency to look at everything around me. I don't know if anyone else does this, or if it's just me, but I watch people and things closely. They inspire me. What i don't know about them, I envision. I create a world for them. Maybe that is the writer in me.
A whole book came pouring into my head about the old man and his life story. The same with the father and his daughter. Poems flooded my imagination when it came to the couple arguing. Some people don't know that it's others that inspire me the most.
After those quiet days of observation, I came home and wrote. I didn't even write about any of those people, or their stories, but the simple way they lived their life helped me to unlock my own narrations.
The best things can come from sadness, bitterness, and the uncertainty if only you look close enough. For me, it is writing.
Now, a week later...I am back to my humorous and focused self. I thank those strangers for their inspiration. And to think, they will never know it...