Sunday, May 19, 2013

All Dressed Up With Nowhere to Go

It's the right kind of night to write.

It's exactly the type of evening that I love to be curled up on my bed, next to my half unpacked suitcase, a little Ingrid on in the background, a few rain drops for ambiance falling outside, and something really amazing on my mind that's burning the get out of my head and onto my screen.

Bed- check.
Half unpacked suitcase with removed items strewn about said bed- check.
Ingrid on in the background- check.
Rain drops- mostly check.
Killer, transformative insight- Umm...sure, let's see what we get...

But jokes aside (although likely not), it is in fact the right kind of night for me to write. Sunday evenings used to be my posting evening. After finishing a day on the field with the girls and grocery shopping for me and the Mickster, it was time to come home, attempt to be brilliant and then throw it all out on the interwebs for public judgment. And tonight feels like the perfect mix of exhaustion from a long day, desperate need to procrastinate, and much on my mind. 

So what do we do when we don't know what to do? As I ponder how to get that "spark" back and devote more time to your beloved CLW, and as I just spent a weekend surrounded by old friends and a small piece of my "old life" for lack of a better term, I realize that part of me is missing in Richmond. Part of me is still in Atlanta, and holding on to pieces of what used to be. And I'm ok with that, but there has to be a way to bring that lingering piece of the puzzle to my physical present.

The trick, much as it is when I want to write and have to decide what to write ABOUT, I have to figure out what that missing link is. So really, this is a 3-fold process:

1- Identify the missing link
2- Figure out how to fix identified link
3- Fix identified link

Hmm, actually doesn't seem so bad when I look at it from that perspective. I mean, after all, I managed to find something to write about tonight. Perhaps this could all be fixed by bringing Sweetwater IPA to Virginia. However, I doubt that the solution to this problem lies in the negotiations between the state and a local Atlanta microbrewer's distribution department. However, if it did, it would prove that Homer Simpson was right to claim that alcohol is both the cause and solution to all of life's problems.

This one however, probably requires some additional thought. I'll get Mickey and the rest of the brain trust (Jackson) on the problem right away. I expect the outcome will yield "Buy us more bones", but hey, maybe it could work.

Happy Sunday!
~CLW