This post was started on August 20th 2010 and never finished.  Originally titled “Plan F”, it went a little something like this:

Umm,  about that whole “writing more”-thing?  Well, yeah, so life was/is somewhat interfering with that.

Between getting ready for an upcoming trip, studying for a professional certification, plus a bajillion other things at the top of the list, JuicyK isn’t quite making it as numero uno right now, but I’m working on it.

One of the biggest reasons “Plan F”, now “177 Days”, is getting a second attempt is due to a short conversation last night between myself and a woman I’ve never met.

I was sitting next to my oldest friend in the middle of a large room.  We listened as the woman across from us remarked on a note I had written and attempted to pass.  I’m not sure how or why my personal note came into the stranger’s possession, but I watched as she scanned the length of it.  The note contained a few succinct quips on my opinion of men.  Once she finished reading her eyes glanced up over the rim of her glasses to meet my gaze.  Her conclusion was a positive one.  The stranger thought it was funny enough to suggest that I take up writing as a career.  She handed me her card, asked that I call her if I was ever interested in becoming a published writer, and proceeded to walk with her colleague to the elevators.  My friend and I chatted a while before we headed out as well.  We reached the garage, said our goodbyes, and I climbed into my monster truck.  Next to me in the passenger seat I noticed a large blue lunch box, but it wasn’t mine.

Blaring rumbles followed me out of the garage as I slammed on the gas and pulled onto the road.  Driving came automatically as my attention fixated on the mystery lunch.  Like an internal GPS the urge find the rightful owner led me directly to the old house my friend used to live in when we were children.  I pulled up to the curb dead set on returning the lost lunch.  Turns out I was searching for Jay.  He was the owner of the blue box.  Without knowing where he lived I continued walking until I came to a run down house with junk and clutter every where.  I hesitantly approached the house and stepped up onto the porch.  I knocked and Jay opened the door.  He greeted me with the hugest hug, but all I could do was stand there and endure it.  When he stepped back from the embrace his eyes were so warm and happy, like he had a thousand things to tell me but was too overwhelmed with excitement to do anything but smile.  He took the lunch from my hands and opened it to reveal a huge portion of chocolate cake.  I think he served me a piece while I sat listening and eating, catching up on the details of his life.

Then I woke up.

It was a bad dream for a number of reasons, but at least my subconscious is attempting to network and encourage me to write.

Subconscious, this one’s for you.