Reaching for the breaching

I've had this urge. It's a craving. A pull. A need. It's a hunger that I have been unable to fulfill.

I've had this urge to write. Not a work of fiction. Not something related to my job. Something more personal. But I haven't been able to start.

It's sort of like when I have insomnia. No matter how tired I am, there are times when I can't bring myself to even try to sleep. It's been like that. I haven't been able to bring myself to write whatever it is in the middle of the whirlwind swirling around in my brain.

At so many points in my life, writing has been my solace. My therapy. It's as if the words flowing out through the ink from a pen, or that are tapped out through the stream of consciousness on a keyboard carry me like a river on some great expedition of self discovery.

I have the distinct impression, a feeling, that I'm coming up on some sort of turning point. A new phase. Like I want -- need -- to do something bold. But I need to write it out to figure out what that thing is.

I've done a little research for a blog post I want to do based on something I found online a few days ago. It was something that reminded me of my dad and family and my early childhood. I've bookmarked a few sites that I want to link to in that post. But that isn't the story I feel the need to tell. It's not the source of the craving. The urge.

This post ain't it either. I thought maybe if I started trying to explain the feeling that the source of the feeling would reveal itself.

If only the words would come. The right words. Then maybe I could find what I'm looking for.