Writer's Block.

And this is what I'm afflicted with.

This disease has spread to all areas of my life that require written words: email correspondence, journaling, letter-writing, and applying for jobs. The sad thing is that there is probably more going on in my head than there ever has been before. Lately, I am equally amazed with and oppressed by the realization that my whole life is open before me. No more checkpoints or required to-dos (such as high school, then college graduation). Certainly there are plenty of "that could happen's" but nothing that I am planning for or working for. I'm not even working for a career yet-as evidenced by the fact that I am blissfully passing my days with caffeinated beverages, trendy music, and a sea of khaki, black, and green.

I suppose that I should explain that shortly after the last post, things with the spa fizzled completely, and I no longer work there. I should be grateful to them, I guess, as it was through them that I discovered some of my more endearing personality traits such as utter dislike, compulsive complaining, bitterness, and outright malice. What can I say? I'm a charming lady.

It feels good to be free. I haven't been free long, but I'm already starting to feel the benefits of this new freedom. But I will say that overall, I have no idea what to do with all of my free time. Free time has long been one of those fantasies that people talk about experiencing but don't really experience. You know like Hollywood romance, a good night's sleep, and a diet food that tastes just as good as the full-fat version. So then what do with this business now that I discover that it isn't just a fantasy? I'm utterly unaware of how to not be "doing" something all the time. I always find "somethings" to do. And by "somethings" I mean "nothings." So then, I've been really trying to make a concerted effort to do real "somethings." Since moving to KC, for instance, I haven't re-embraced my crime drama habit; and that in and of itself opens up LOADS of time. I'm trying to entertain myself less, and exert myself more. Reading, art, music, creating, being, stuff and things of that nature. And it's HARD, folks. REALLY HARD. It's exponentially harder in this new place, because all this time for thinking allows all sorts of detrimental thoughts to seep in. My least favorite is a daily evil whisper, "I'm ready to go home, now." And then I have to remind myself that I am home.

Home. Home? Where is this place and why are we so desperate to find it, to make it, and then inevitably, to leave it? Anyways. I am home now. At home in the hood of Kansas city. And I LOVE living in the city. I love driving under downtown on the way home. I love not being able to ignore the hurting around me. I love the old house that I live in (except for the fact that I'm convinced that my walls are actually just holographic aborations, and don't really exist due to the amount of cold air that they allow through.) (It also should be noted that I am typing this buried under blankets, and with gloves on. Nice.)

But I digress. The point, dear friends, is that I am learning. Learning to rest. Learning to relax. Learning to listen. Learning to forgive. Learning to pray. Learning to heal. Learning to wait. And as always, learning to love. Have patience with me: I'm destined to fail.