Inspiration is a strange bird. It flutters in and out throughout the day, usually choosing it’s moments wisely. I get brilliant ideas when I’m going 70 miles an hour on a busy freeway, or when I’m in the middle of changing a nasty diaper. Sometimes it strikes in the middle of an endless meeting, or in the middle of the grocery store. What it never does is strike when I’m sitting close to a notebook or a computer. My ideas are sometimes brilliant, sometimes funny, sometimes just a little witty, and often, painfully introspective. Some days I write whole blog posts in my head, blog posts people might want to give me awards for, posts that will make my stats skyrocket as friends share with friends and coworkers.
After work I pick up C, drive home, feed her, bathe her, make dinner for M, put C to bed, share dinner with M, and finally, finally, sit down on the couch and pick up my computer. At that precise moment, just when I start to relax, to let the stress go, any coherent thought vanishes from my brain and I’m left pondering what on earth I could possibly write about. That’s when I write scintillating posts about C’s cute phrases or the hysteria at work.
I dream of a world where inspiration is like a faucet that can be opened or shut at will. The ideas would still be mine, but I would have access to them when I have time to really give them my full attention. More realistically, I should probably dream of a world where I have a little more free time, or at least more ready access to a pen and paper. In the meantime, I’ll keep trying to catch that elusive bird, hoping that every few days I can at least hold on to a feather or two.