I used to envision my inspiration as a well. A well in my mind where I could pull up thoughts, words, sentences, stories, tales, and pour them into my computer, onto paper. Pull them out from deep inside of me. A bottomless well, a source which would never run empty.

Sometimes the inspiration was not a well, sometimes it was in the air, fluttering next to me, as butterflies. Just as sparkling and light. And all I had to do was to reach out and let them land in my mind.

But now, when I reach out to find the words, there si nothing more than empty air. The butterflies are gone. Sometimes I can see them at the side of my vision, but when I turn around to look at them, they are gone. Sometimes I can feel them flutter just on the edge of my mind, but when I try to make them land, there is nothing there.

Where I used to be able to find vast pools of ideas, words, phrases, I can now find nothing. There are nothing there, it feels empty when I poke it. My mind has dried up. How much I dig into where the used to be so much, I can now find nothing. Sometimes, i think I can feel something just underneath, but it always turns out to be nothing, another rock. Another rock. 

It didn't use to be like this, once I could write about everything. I didn't even have to reach out to find the words, the words would effortless come pouring into me. I could sit night after night, and pour my thoughts out into my computer. It seemed the source were never going to empty. I did not even create the words, the stories, the tales, I was just the medium. I could not run dry! But now, I find the well empty and dried up. Single phrases and sentences swirl around in my head, but there are no connections between them. And when I try to pin them down onto paper or into my conpmuter, they flutter away from me, and I am left empty handed again.

after three hours on the phone to Immigration, begging, screaming, pleading, crying, swearing, reasoning... and for the zilionth time had to explain to someone that yes, I am abroad because I couldn't apply for the visa inside the country, and yes, that's why I went abroad, to apply for a new visa, and yes, i am abroad... I was on the verge of murder.

First I called them, asking if someone could tell me how far my application had been proccessed, and of course, the guy I was talking to was really helpful, and knew exactly who I was going to talk to. But, of course, since he was really helpful, my phone card had to run out of money, so I had to buy a new one, and call back. These things are laws written in stone. If you meet someone mice and helpful at immigration, your phonecard will either run out of money, the phone will break down, or a sudden earthquake will happen very locally, and swallow your phone... Of course, the law also state that should the more likely event be that you encounter someone nasty and rude, nothing of these things will happen.

So, I had to buy a new card, and I called back. Where I soon realized that the name the very Polite and Helpful Guy gave me, did not exsist. Or at least, the Annoying and Confused Woman I was talking to this time, did not know how to find the person on her computer. So, I had to explain my whole situation again, and yes I was abroad because I had to apply for a visa... After being asked to hold for probably 8 times, I started to wonder whether Annoying and Confused Woman really did anything useful when I was on hold, or whether she just put me on hold while she had a fag and a coffee... After half an hour, Annoying and Confused Woman suddenly ask me whether I am abroad. And when I confirm that, she tells me that's the reason she couldn't find my case officer. At that point I was very close to breaking down. Telling her that I did tell her 30 minutes ago that 'yes, I was abroad' in a rather strained polite voice, did probably show more self control than anything I have ever done before. So, in the end, she transfer my call elsewhere, and I get to talk to Distant but Effective Woman. But of course, the law wouldn't have been much useful if my phone card did not run out of money at that time.

So, another phonecard later, I am on the phone to immigration again. This time they probably could hear a faint threat of a rather painful death in my voice, because my called get transfered so many times and in such a rapid manner, that I am starting to ponder whether they are just trying to confuse me into defeat. But, to make a long story short, another hour later, I am told that my application hasn't been processed yet, and the processing could take another three weeks. Well, that was it, I had gotten a straight answer, and there were nothing else I could do. Defeated I found my way to the airline office, in order to change my flight. My rather optimistic return to Australia would not happen tomorrow. With the return re-booked, and another week paid for at the backpacker, i decided to check my e-mail. And there it was, an e-mail from immigration, sent to me 20 minutes after I talked to them, 20 minutes after I was told to change my ticket because I wouldn't get any visa for at least another week, there it was, an e-mail telling me that my application was processed, and my visa was granted.

Then I could have commited murder with cold blood. And, if someone in the jury ever had had to deal with any immigration anywhere, they would not only have voted not guilty, but also applauded me, and begged the judge to honour me for a invaluable and honourable service to human kind everywhere...

So, in New Zealand now, on a visarun of some sort... Immigration in every country I have ever been to do obtain a twisted form of pleasure by doing the life of non-citizens hardest possible. I wonder, are they like that when they start working for the immigration, or do they get broken into it after a while in service... So here I am, waiting for my Online Application to go through. Oh yes, I didn't even need to see an Embassy, I just had to go and find a foreign internet cafe so I could apply online... waste of time and money. Anywayz, enough of the whining...

Auckland is a very European city, at least visually. I kind of like it, even if my stay haven't been very smooth so far. Of course I was stopped in custom. I am ALWAYS stopped in custom. No one ever believes I am honest and am not smuggling in bucket-loads of explosives and/or drugs. But, I brought a book with me, so while the custom officer was elbow-deep in undies and clothes, I was reading about dragons and heroes... Not too bad. Lately I have been wondering why I always get stopped in custom. I mean, it only happens in Southern hemisphere (or at least so far), but then it happens every bloody time...