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Working in a dental office doesn’t inspire much creativity. It has inspired a few illnesses, and for those of you who know me, know I am not often prone to such things. Children are dirty, but I still want some. I’ve decided to name my two daughters Rowen and Laurel. We three shall be a trifecta of sorts, but no replacement for THE trifecta (as if that must be said). But I digress. I’ve made a few feeble attempts to put my thoughts to virtual paper, but to no avail. The most good my English skills have done as of late are winning me some points on “Scene it” because I understand the difficulty most people have when using the word “myriad.” No, it does not require a preposition when used as an adjective. And no, I’m not going to explain how that knowledge gained me points in a movie trivia game. The point I suppose I am painstakingly making is that I’m not sure where I’m at with myself. I truly am enjoying this adventure out west, and I love my face like nobody’s business. By face I mean boyfriend, but most of you know that I think. But there is still something else. I’ve been thinking a lot about how small our time is here, and how easily each day slips to the next. My mother’s friend from work is dying. My mother said to me, “He thought he’d have more time.” Of course he thought so. I think in the end, especially a young end, we all think so. Most people don’t really live long enough to think they’ve had enough time, even if they’ve lived 100 years. But he only had 50 or so, and that really isn’t a long time. Neither is 23 years, and those could be cut short anytime. You just never know when you’ll be lying there, wondering where it all slipped away too. Many long, hectic, angry, sleepy days at work, and perhaps a few fleeting moments with loved ones. I really don’t feel as pessimistic as it seems to be coming out, but I feel strange about it. How do we know if we’re taking advantage of every moment? I don’t feel that I am. I feel bored at my work and uninspired in the thing that I feel I’m meant to be doing. Uninspired and also, let’s be honest, a little scared. Creation is scary. You put something out there for the world to see and that something is a tangible, critiqueable part of yourself. It’s part of your soul. It’s scary facing the thoughts that there may not be enough inside to make something worth while. I think that’s all I really wanted to say. Maybe something good is brewing inside and I just don’t know about it yet.
