I have writers block. I want the words to come back to my finger tips but I am at a continuous mute of the brain. Every chance I do sit here to make an effort, I lose any inspiration and ideas that seems worthy of the time it takes to share.

Life has not been dull in any sense but in turn I am not the same person that wrote all those previous blogs from years past. Every night I go to bed and dream of a brighter tomorrow. Life is a mystery, heartache, and a sea of continuous rolling waves. Sometimes you have an oar to help direct your way and other times you are at its mercy. I keep having this continuous thought of some form of greatness. What kind of greatness is beyond me. Or is it just wishful thinking as I go though another day. I am constantly trying to surround myself with positive people and experiences but in turn I think that I may be bringing them down in some way.

I need to get away, anywhere. I have experienced greatness on different occasions. It is out there, waiting.