4 years in Louisiana

I went to Starbucks today, the same Starbucks I sat in 4 years ago with a borrowed laptop filling out applications for anything and everything. 4 years ago, I had nothing but a part-time job waiting tables at night and on the weekends. After 5 years in Florida, a divorce, a bad economy and being blacklisted from ever working for Sprint again, I arrived on a Greyhound bus in Louisiana with a couple of quarters in my pocket and no other assets to my name.

It was in those hours waiting for a ride to work that the urge to write again came back for the first time since my creative writing class in college when I was told by a professor that I would never be worth anything as a writer. Perhaps he was right, but people still read what I put together. Too bad I can't remember his name so I could send him a "how do you like me now?" email.

I do miss Florida, especially in the spring and fall when the fish migrations happen. To watch a school of mullet get blown up by tarpon, jacks, snook and sharks in the waist deep water just off the beach is just one of the many wonderful memories I have of that state. Maybe I'll go back one day, perhaps once again I'll paddle my kayak into the sunset over Panama City Beach. One more cast, just one more fish.

Maybe one day I'll win the lottery, or perhaps this writing thing will really take off. Maybe I can buy that house 4 blocks off the beach, just out of the Spring Break traffic and just 5 minutes from the pier. But for now, I'm here in Louisiana and the wanderlust has begun to stir again.