I used to be able to sit down at this computer and my fingers would fly over the keyboard full of life and the promise of stories waiting to be told.  I would drive home from work and in the fifteen minute commute I would  have an entire entry floating around in my head needing to escape onto this light grey screen in front of me.  It became my stress relief and my passion and there were times that I thought I had found my nitch...my something that I loved...my "calling" if you will.  Writer's block was a foreign word to me.  I had endless stories to tell and endless more that I was creating with every relationship that I had, every date that I went on, every memory I decided to share.  There were times that I would get stumped when I could not find the right words to express how I felt or frusterated when I couldn't find the right words to end an entry.  But after a few minutes of sitting and thinking it would come to me like a flash of lightening and I would wrap it up with a shiny bow and send it off sealed with a kiss.  Voila. 

Then there came the lull.  The time that I began to realize what writers block was.  The time that I thought I had told every story I had to tell and that I had nothing left.  I had used up all my fifteen minutes of blogger fame and now I was done.  Now I realize that I never had writers block at all, because, in essence, I was never really a writer.  I was just some girl who had a witty way of telling some goofy stories that people could relate to.  As I sit here today all of this feels forced and foreign.  The magic is gone.  Lots of great things have happened that would have been good material.  For instance, The Cards won the World Series.  I was there, in the utter chaos that took over this city.  I drank the red shots that were passed around. I cheered until I was hoarse for days.  I danced in the streets and celebrated with baseballs best fans.  Not one time did I think about writing about it. 

I learned that the one person I thought was a truley good seed turned out to be nothing but an onion.  The more layers I peeled back the more he made me cry until finally I just had to throw him in the trash along with the other garbage from my past.  But hey, you have all read about my disasterous dating life so why share more? A sob story is a sob story and frankly, I am getting sick of them myself.

After this drama I took the advice of a wise girl and tucked my head back into my turtle shell and I hung out with some dear friends from the past.  I don't know what ever happened to the girl who gave me that advice but if she happens to read this I want to tell her thanks.  Sometimes sitting around a bonfire sipping whiskey to keep warm with old friends is the best was to get back on your feet.  There is no nonsense, no sugar coating, and no bullshit. They call your bluff and tell you when to shut up and quit feeling sorry for yourself. Then they hug you, tell you that you derserve better, and for the first time in a long time you feel home.  You laugh until your belly hurts and all the crap that has been weighing you down slowly melts away.  You stare at the girl sharing a bale of hay with you and you realize who you are and where you come from.  You quit trying to be something you aren't and embrace the girl who you used to be.  You make plans to go and see her in Chicago the day after Thanksgiving and know that you will keep them because suddenly true friends are the only people you want to surround yourself with.