sliding along

I took a vacation from work for a week. Nine whole days counting weekends. Today is the first day back. When I left I was feeling like I was in a rut. The days felt agonizingly long. I started slacking and not really caring about anything. It's not too odd but being away made me actually miss this place. Even as I spent my time wisely being able to live without routine or schedule, I missed it. I missed the people, even the most mundane tasked that seemed to annoy me before I left. I never thought that office work was my thing. I'm not saying that it really is, I guess it works for now. The thing that I needed was a kick start to replenish me. I started a story, something longer than the short stories that I usually produce. I'm working on it with a friend of mine. She will be doing the illustrations for me, since she needs "shit to do" and I needed a "reason to write again". I was apprehensive at first but the more I thought about it the more it seemed necessary. I need to get in the habit of free writing again. I'm not going to say this hit me right away. After spending a large quantity of my week chain smoking and drinking cheap booze I thought about what would help me release the tension I've let build up inside of me. I had gotten so angry with life. The things that I had wanted to do didn't seem to happen the way I would have liked. I wanted to leave the state, just to go somewhere. The only places I went outside of Minneapolis was up north to the family and Apple Valley to see Dark Knight at the Imax. I guess I thought leaving would help me. I don't know why I always think that I can run away from my problems and they'll fix themselves while I'm gone. All I got out of the small time I left was an irritated cat and a more stress caused by such family time. So I spent the last four days of my vacation plotting. I found a main character in my imagination and she grew. Suddenly I'm asking questions about this person who doesn't exist. I start feeling a building anticipation to figure her out. Who is she? How does she feel? I wrote more in that four days than I have on a story in a long time. As I attempted to read another book today while sitting on lunch I realized that I can't... it's weird. I've read article of artists who do this. They paint a similar scene or person over and over. Most don't imply it but it's almost like they are haunted by this image. Hoping to capture this thing that they created in their own mind. I think that's what happened and is happening with me. I've never felt such a strong connection to any of the short stories I've written. I'm hoping that I can share some of it once I am finished. Is it weird that I didn't think of writing until it was offered to me? I've always considered it as being so therapeutic to me. I have a journal and I have these blogs. Never before that moment did I think I should actually start a novel. I'm too pessimistic usually to think that I can even accomplish something like that. I kept thinking about the stress I had caused myself and how unnecessary it was. My mom told me she cried for 3 days after I mailed her the letter I had written earlier this year (I don't know if you all remember it). For some reason or another she asked me why I didn't write more often. She doesn't know me that incredibly well so I told her about the blogs I keep on here. Oddly enough she asked me more. Seeming interested and bringing this to our biggest bonding moment in years, I told her a bit about all of them. To my surprise she encouraged me to write and I blew it off. It feels like now, that I'm rambling, the signs were all around me to do this. Being here doesn't seem to bother me today because I feel like I have something more. I have this thing that might be wonderful growing in my brain and it's not a tumor! I almost think that's more why I needed the vacation. I needed to regain hope in myself that this isn't my only option. I'm a slacker though so will see how long I can keep this up!