Learning to abide.

I haven't written in what feels like ages. Don't get me wrong, I've scribbled. I've taken notes, typed up the occasional paper, prepared lesson plans, and generally just tolerated academia, but I haven't sat down and just written in a long, long time.

Which is a shame.

Because I'm a writer.

I am kind of a slow-processing guy. The wheels, for me, are slow to waken and ponderous to turn. That's not a euphemism for stupidity. I don't think I'm dumb; I'm just a slow thinker. I turn things over in my head, similar to the way one might turn a stone over and over in his hand, so that eventually the edges are worn smooth and shiny.

Another way to think about it is the way a cow might chew cud. Cows have multiple stomachs. When they eat cattle feed, they chew it up, swallow, digest, regurgitate, chew it up, swallow, digest, regurgitate, and so on and so forth until every possible ounce of nutrition is extracted from the cattle feed.

That's right. I just compared my thoughts to cattle vomit.

If you ever have an in-depth conversation with me and speak to me face-to-face you'll notice one of two things. Either I will take a long time to think about what I say to you, or I will try to say it quickly and fall all over myself as my mouth moves at a speed slightly slower as the thoughts that are pouring out my brain. Kind of like a 12-year old boy might trip all over himself and his untied shoelaces on his way up the school steps.

Writing gives me a chance to tie up my shoelaces, take a deep breath, and deliberately step through those figurative double doors. The words come more easily, free of the little pieces of lint that tend to collect in my pockets. The ideas flow more cleanly, free of my softspoken, often monotonous voice that could couldn't cut through the sound of a purring cat.

I think I'm going to write more.