......or B-U-S-T.

I've recently reached a state where I'm feeling very restless, bored, and quite artistically starved. So much so that when I do happen to find an outlet for some form of creativity or creation, it manifests itself in very sudden outbursts with no real direction.

For instance, I've found myself more so writing for the sake of writing every now and then, but to no sense of completion. I've written a total of seven postcards that I've yet to send. I've cut and ripped out a stack of pictures from different magazines to collage but have left them in a plastic bag in my backpack. I have brief outlines of unfinished, if even attempted, scripts. I carry around three unread plays, a pair of scissors, glue, paint brushes, a journal, and a video camera daily but usually leave my bag unopened. Choosing, instead, to stare mindlessly off into space while I listen to music on the patio of the closest Starbucks.

Finding myself in this stagnant position just makes me a huge negative energy to be around or converse with. You know those times when you aren't too happy with a particular situation in your life and you find yourself inexplicably taking it out on those around you? It's as if you go into out of body experiences and you hear that you're being a complete ass for no reason and yet you just can't stop yourself or muster up the energy to explain that it's no one's fault, it just is what it is. Well.......yeah.

This is probably a sign that I'm ready to pack up and leave again. Which, If I leave before August, will be my fourth home within one year. At this point in my life I've developed a Goldilocks complex, trying all the options available until something feels just right. In all honesty, I haven't minded this pseudo-gypsy lifestyle thus far. And better that a move should cure my boredom as opposed to a slue of tattoos and haircuts, which would probably be the only other alternative to scratch this lethargic itch.

And maybe that's okay. After all, if the feeling of being stuck in a town where there is no potential to grow and expand, to create and be inspired, and where the monotony of life has ignited a spark that will inevitably conclude with a massive internal implosion, what other option is there?

You pack your shit, and you go.