When I don’t play the piano for a long time I get an itching sensation in my fingers. It’s as if I can feel the end of them tingling, telling me that it’s time to touch the ivory keys, telling me it’s time to produce music.
I’ve had that same sensation in my fingers for two months, except this time it’s been in regards to writing. For two months I have been blogging in my head, but not once did I touch the letters on my computer to actually write. Now it’s near midnight, I’m in a small town so close to Canada that I don’t receive cell phone service, and I suddenly had the urge to pull out my computer and write.
This past quarter I wrote countless papers, personal essays, and stories for classes but not once did I write for myself. I reached a point when it was too hard—it’s not that I did have anything to say, but nothing that I had to say was making it’s way onto paper. Some of what I had to say I couldn’t share with the whole world either.
Blogging is like journaling, but what I write needs to be censored. If I share all of myself with the world I won’t have anything left and I think I needed to keep some of my feelings to myself. Spring quarter was full of emotional ups and downs for me, like turbulence on an airplane or an earthquake—completely unpredictable. I couldn’t write about trivial things that are fun to share when so much of me was bursting with heavy emotions that took time for me to sort through.
Long story short, I’ve made it through that and now I’m here. Now it is finally summer and I’m once more ready to pick up where I left off. I’ve missed the color scheme of my blogging page, not even joking.
I’m ready to be back.
To those of you who have so patiently waited, thank you.
I hope you enjoy reading what I have to say just as much as you did before.