Winters where I live in Australia don’t get below forty degrees at night… and the days still hit around 70 (say 7 to 24… respectively). As soon as I woke up this morning I booked outside to play in the white fluffy wonderland that last night’s weather left behind.
It feels like Christmas. I’ve adjusted to pretty much everything living in Australia. I even say tomato sauce instead of ketchup and can shift with my left hand. However, warm weather Christmases don’t resonate. The whole opposite seasons thing sort of throws me off. Last time I heard it’s 94 degrees inside my house in the land of down under.
For some reason I spent most of yesterday writing poetry which wasn’t very helpful for either of my scripts, but I guess that’s what makes the difference between Writers and people who enjoy writing. Liking to write is cool… busting out the ink or notebook and seeing where your creativity takes you. I think being a Writer is different from that in the sense that it’s not about ‘Oh I’ve always had an idea about…’ It’s more like ‘If I don’t express myself now, my head is going to blow off…’
Fortunately my head is still attached. Hopefully today the scripts take over and my emotional state stops demanding me to write poetry… because who wants to read that?