Quiet Place

Still no news on my short story progress or on Daisy Gale.  I wonder which will get noticed first...
With my classes, work, friends, writing, and all the other things I think about on a daily basis, I find myself missing my old spot in Los Angeles.  I lived there for a year for my first two semesters in college.  I went to the American Musical and Dramatic Academy, studying the art of film acting.  Behind the school down Ivar street was the most pleasant little spot in the entire city.  On days that I felt overwhelmed I usually ended up standing at my quiet place.
Leaving the school's gates I would turn East and head to where the street met with Ivar.  That whole block was a Hispanic district and the smells of food and the sounds of laughter and music were my escorts to my spot.  I would walk the uphill road and my shoulder would be brushed by the flowers that draped down the sides of the wall that separated my school from the sidewalk.  It felt freeing to be outside those walls, smelling and hearing things that didn't remind me of school or any of my other troubles.
I would come to a stop at the top of the hill.  The road wound away and back toward my school where it would split up, joining the overpass or headed back into West Hollywood.
Standing ontop of the hill I felt above the city.  A busy interstate highway circulated below me, a large billboard to my left across the road, and the empty overpass down a ways to the right.  The Hispanic district behind me on one side, and my towering school behind me on the other side.  Drapes of purple and pink flowers on both sides.
Once I took off my shoes and let my bare feet stand on the grass next to the road.  California grass doesn't feel like Illinois grass.  It sounds strange, but I never touched the alien stuff again.
I would read the billboard and think about it's messages.  "NEED A BREAK?  DO WHAT YOU LOVE!" was one sign advertising Vegas.  I love many things, but most of all I love writing.
That quiet place ontop of the hill in LA helped me realize my calling.  It wasn't acting, it was writing.  When I feel like I'm slipping on my priorities, or if I'm letting myself get overwhelmed, I often picture my quiet place.  I can hear the sound of the traffic below me.  Occasionally a roar of laughter will sound from one of the houses.  The smell of spices and cooking meats will surround me.  I'll put my own sign on the billboard and let it guide me.
Right now my sign says, "KEEP TRYING!  DO WHAT YOU LOVE!"
And I will.