I've put myself in a self-imposed exile lately. I've closed myself off from people and stayed holed away at home reading a book or walking outside. And even though its lonely, I think I need it.
I feel like I'm in a cocoon. Waiting.
For what, I'm not quite sure. But there is something inside changing. I don't know what to feed it. The daily monotony is slowly starving it to death.
Writing helps, but sometimes it's excruciating to pick up a pen or type on the keyboard. I can hear the watercolor paints whispering to me from the other room, but I'm easily distracted.
My car just waits knowing that eventually the need to escape will be too strong to ignore and soon I will be sitting in the front seat with nothing more than an idea for a destination. The journey seduces me; makes me feel alive.
I can't stop thinking about the open road. Adventure is calling.