So are the days of our lives.
What am I doing? No
seriously, what am I doing? I am
drafting this blog post at 11:40 p.m., listening to “Blackbird” by The Beatles,
full off Taco Bell and contemplating how I am going to burn off the calories
that were in the red sauce they put in their burritos. I am sitting in front of my computer, staring
at the blinking cursor and it taunts me like it has many times before.
I remember back in college when I had decided to drop the
education part of my degree plan and focus strictly on English. That little cursor and I became best
friends. When I would stay up late
writing papers and essays about poetry, when I would draft non-fiction stories
for the fun of it, and when I would need an outlet for expression that little
cursor and I would make the best of the situation and create some awesome
writings.
It was in 2009 when I last remember feeling totally right
with the world. Or should I say “write”
with the world. I was in my last year of
college, I had my own column with the university paper, and I had written a
play that was picked up for a summer theater production series. Things were starting to feel right, that I
had finally found my calling.
Then shit got real.
In the span of 6 months, my father had passed away, my mom’s
health started to deteriorate and I was working full time while taking 15 hours
worth of classes just to finish my degree.
I was the sole bread winner of the family, and in between probate court
and shuffling my mother from doctors appoint to doctors appointments, I had
little time to focus on my writing career…or lack thereof at that point.
I was searching the archives of my old school newspaper, The
Shorthorn, and I found my columns and articles. In my opinion, they aren’t half
bad. In my mother’s opinion, they were
great! She couldn’t wait for me to get
home every Friday with a copy of the paper to show her my clippings. My dad had my every publication, every
article I had written clipped and on the fridge like a child who brought home a
perfect spelling test. They thought I was
brilliant. The fact that they got to see
my name in print makes me smile. It also
makes me feel like when I make my student loan payments each month my degree
wasn’t in vain.
Check me out here.
I had a thought tonight.
I love my job and my career. I couldn’t
ask to work for a better company. But I really
miss that feeling of seeing my name printed next to an article that I wrote. That feeling I would get seeing my ideas and
thoughts in the hands of others. That
was such a thrill. I decided something
tonight. While I sit here, still
listening to The Beatles, I made the decision to get back out there. Even if it’s just one day out of the week, I want
to get my thoughts back into print. I am not doing it for the money. Hell, in college I was paid $7 a column. That is what I considered drinking money for
the weekend. It’s for the love of the
art, the love of the game.
I am challenging myself to put all those scribbles I have in
journals into thoughts and writings and get them out into the world. I may never be a hard hitting journalist, but
I will be published again.
As God as my witness…
