Must Get Out

The Black Hole seems to be sucking away my creative fervor. I can feel my ideas leaking out of me like spilled gasoline. All I need is for somebody to strike a match and I, along with all my creativity, will explode and be obliterated into smithereens. That's a weird word...smithereens. I've never typed it before. Anyway, I've been staring at my computer for like three hours now, and I got nothing. My life as a nomad seems to be failing me at the moment...it's not exciting at all.

Regardless, I have to write something because the point of this blog is not only to feel some sort of connection to whoever is reading but also to keep myself writing semi-regularly. I've been journaling too, but that fake leather-bound book is full of self-loathing and melodramatic shit about how unqualified I am to do anything remotely important. And no one wants to hear about that.

It has come to my attention recently that I have been quite harsh on the Black Hole. I feel like I've given it a fair treatment here online, but it seems my bitterness is seeping into my spoken language. My friend pointed out that I've been fairly negative about people who choose to come back here. I know people I went to high school with who are coming back to teach or otherwise employ themselves, and I just don't understand their choices. I've spent my whole life trying to run away from here, and they are doing just the opposite. Hence, my rendering of the town as the "Black Hole." Even my best friend would not mind getting married and settling down here, succumbing to everything about the Black Hole that I've been trying to avoid my entire life. There's nothing wrong with this...it is just not the life I would choose. Then again, what I'm doing right now - bumming around - isn't my lifestyle of choice either.

Anyway, let it be said in writing, that the Black Hole is not a nightmare of a town straight out of some horror movie. In fact, it is quite a lovely place to grow up. And it has a very nice zoo, if that counts for anything.

I got my haircut on Thursday by Whitney. This may seem odd to some of you, but my hair has been cut by a total of 2 people in my entire life (maybe 3 if there was somebody before Whitney). Whitney has cut my hair for as long as I can remember, and I would rather go a year without a haircut than have it even trimmed by somebody else. I just don't trust anybody else with scissors. Same idea with my dentist. It's something weird about growing up here - something about the comfort of the dental hygienist, Joyce, asking me about my best friend's family vacation. Or Whitney asking to see pictures of Ryan, my nephew because she was just looking at his birth announcement the other day. That is something I really don't mind about the Black Hole.

Despite all of this, it is about time for me to be moving on. Like I said, my creative spirit is slowly dying. Come Tuesday, I will be saying goodbye to the Black Hole and moving forward in my nomadic life which will hopefully become increasingly more exciting (and perhaps have pictures).