For me, summer vacation generally involves hiding from the world. This summer is different than the rest, not because I’m not trying to hide from people but because I have plans to do productive things. One of those things involves preparing for next year. I’ve managed all my adult life to avoid spending my summers working on non-summer activities (i.e. work work), and it sickens me a little to know that I am making this change. But if I don’t want to lose my mind next year, I have to.

Writing is a decompression, as is walking and anything else I can find to do that I like doing. Writing used to be a burning, insatiable need, but time away from that passion snuffed out the flame. I never believed that could happen. I’m as shocked as I am saddened by the loss, but perhaps that fire in my belly will return. I hope so. In the meantime, I’ve set a goal to write at least once everyday. Much of what I post will likely be garbage since I’ve made writing a goal and not a whim. I still enjoy writing, I just don’t always have anything to write about. My brain isn’t as creative as it once was. Or I’m not. Brain just does what I tell it to. Or is it the other way around? If Brain is in charge, I’m in trouble. Then again, if Whim is in charge, I’m in bigger trouble. Neither of these likelihoods bode well for me. Maybe I’m better off sticking my head in a book.