A Story To Be Told On A Quiet Saturday Night

Time has passed, a lot of time, since I wrote on here last. So much has changed, inside of me, and yet nothing has changed that's visible.

I guess what I logged on here to say, and to write was this: When nothing else seems like it's worth doing, or of any interest or meaning to me anymore, writing is the one thing that I can count on to be completely therapeutic and get me through.

Things in my life are still up in the air - I'm still looking for work, a year later, I'm still barely making it by, I'm still dealing with broken relationships, and the jaded hopelessness of a questionable love life. I'm still the same old me. But I've started writing again, a short story, or a novel, or a novella, I guess. And this one thing is different for me. At times when I have nothing else that excites me or that I feel I can live for, pouring my thoughts out onto paper, listening to the comforting sound of the clack-clack of my fingernails on my keyboard, is keeping me centered and grounded. I've always wanted to be a writer, and yet I've never had the heart to write anything other than journal entries and random blog posts. I've never felt like I've had anything to say. I still don't, but something has freed up inside of me to finally put down the nuances and emotions of what I've been going through. I have a character, whose words I am driven to tell. I may never finish it, I may certainly never publish it, but for the first time, I have something to write about, something that is inspiring me, and a story to be told.

And at a time when the days drag on forever, and I wait with a sad sort of hope that something in my life will turn around and change, this one thing is getting me through. I guess I should say Thank You God, for giving me this gift and finally bringing me to a point where I want to use it.

Anyways, that's all that's new with me. As I used to say, that's my story, and I'm sticking to it.