Inspiration is so much easier to come by when the sink isn’t piled high with dishes and the floor isn’t begging to be mopped, or scrubbed. I should know, I spent the entire week catching up between shifts.
I didn’t touch my computer for three days because I was on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor I almost forgot we had. Finally tonight, with the kitchen and living room looking decent again, I decided that it was time to sit down and write something.
I got sidetracked and watched “My Sister’s Keeper” on Netflix.
Then my phone notified me of a message from my youngest sister, Tina. She asked me if I was watching the super blood moon tonight. I wasn’t. I couldn’t. She said it was stunning. She had a great view of it in Wisconsin.
She told me she was writing in her journal and then going to bed, but then we got to talking about poetry. About why I don’t write them as much as I used to. Suddenly I remembered a snippet from a dream I had this past week. I was headed somewhere, not sure where, but I was in a bit of a hurry, and my right hand was my red-covered poetry notebook.
I told her about it, and how it reminded me of how I used to take my poetry notebooks everywhere with me when I was in high school. I always had a poem for my teacher to read. Nearly everyone who crossed paths with me had my poetry shoved in their face. Back then Tina was one of my biggest fans, she started writing poetry too at one point.
She told me that maybe the dream was a sign that I should start writing again. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I’ll start carrying the notebook around with me again, so that maybe, in those still, or not so still moments where thoughts must become words, I will be ready.