“You can’t just turn on creativity like a faucet. You have to be in the right mood.
What mood is that?
Last-minute panic.”
― Bill Watterson

Moods are funny. Not in the hilarious sense, but in the capacity of knowing exactly when, where, and how they are desired. Mr. Watterson is right on the ball when he said that the mood has to be right, and often, it comes in a panic.

I am panicking. I am 36 years old (three months shy of my 37th birthday) and I’m panicking over my life’s relevancy. The proverbial question was asked nineteen years ago: “What do you want to do with your life?” Maybe I skipped that day or slept through it because the question still reverberates in my head.

Up to now, I’ve held varied jobs: obituary reporting, data entry, teaching, full-time and substitute, freelance writing, and yes, even waitressing. I constantly changed directions when the mood felt “right” and urgent, feeling like a constant mental nomad on a quest of finding the exact fit that will tell me where I should be.

The panic is real, except this time I have a better feeling of seeking out my destination. Writing is where it abides. I look back at the jobs and career starts I’ve held. They all had the common core of writing. What’s worse is that they all shared a common “frenemy”: procrastination.

But, this is it. This is my last chance to stop procrastinating and start writing. Write whatever comes to mind. Write down the various opinions that I share (well, drown, really) with my family. Sometimes, they will be coherent; whereas, on other days, they will be rants and vents that a Key Lime Martini could not suppress.

I am in the midst of writing the outline for my first book. I am scared. I am nervous. I am excited. I am turning on the faucet. It’s time. I am in the right mood. The panic is on. I have a feeling that something great will emerge from the minutes that finally decided to dethrone the procrastination.

Maybe I’ll be alone as I write these words. Or, perhaps, someone in the same boat will understand, rant, and share with me. Who knows? It will either be a journey of shits and giggles, or best-selling. The faucet will overflow.

Until tomorrow…..

Love, Peace, and Hair Grease,



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