I give up on titles

Right now, it's hard to be creative and write. So I've been relaxing, emptying my mind. Turns out, what comes into my empty mind does not translate into acceptable writing. I guess I need to have over-worked synapses in order to create. Writing, it seems, is a release for me. It's how I empty my mind. One way to explain it is in the form of a story I heard long ago.

A man invites a co-worker to dinner one evening. They get to the man's house, and the co-worker noticed that the man stopped and touched a shrub growing outside his door before entering. He asked the man how come he does that. The man replied, "Every day before going inside, I leave my worries and stresses on this tree so that they don't affect my family. And every morning I pick them up again. But the funny thing is, most of the time when I go to pick them up again, they aren't there anymore."

In a way, I guess writing is my worry-bush. And right now, I'm not really stressing about anything, so I have nothing to put in it's branches.

My May long-weekend was a blast, really relaxing. Went to Jasper National Park with 3 friends (of the female variety, how I swung that, I don't know). Went rock-climbing with about a dozen other people we hooked up with while there. We called ourselves "The Insta-Crowd." Met a really nice family who we hung out with over dinner one night. Being the only male in our campsite, I was the designated fire-starter and pack-mule, and when it was time to leave, the designated car-packer. All in all, a good weekend.