My eyes burn and struggle to see straight as my once sore hands begin to feel numb to the incessant typing. Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick. Eventually, I don’t even notice the sound as the words on the screen create a vivid picture. The sky was a bright baby blue and the sun was shining, while I could feel the warmth overtake my body as a light breeze softly caressed me from the West. I can see it all right in front of me. I see nothing else, but the fictional land of Estancias. I’m no longer in my living room, but wherever my words take me.
But a few moments pass and the sound from my TV comes into focus. Snookie and the Situation are fighting about Jionni again. Nothing new there. I can feel a cramp in my right hand. That’s not good. My feet are hot so I kick the aqua green blanket off as I stretch my legs out on the burgundy sofa. I quench my thirst with some water. Now, there’s only about an inch left of water in my cup. Time to look over what I’ve written. I begin reading and I brute my forehead, while squinting my eyes. My neck inches closer to the screen. It all looks so blurry if I don’t concentrate.
It’s midnight and I have work in the morning. I have no homework due the next day and everything is ready for when I have to leave to mentor my students. The only thing left to do is sleep, so why do I do this to myself? I know I’m going to be tired in the morning. I know I won’t always have the luxury of going to sleep early, so why do I do it? It’s simple. I just can’t help it.
I have an addiction. I am addicted to writing. Some days I can resist the temptation and I won’t write. These are usually the days that have been preceded by a night long writing fest on my part. But other days I have too much to write about and my mind is overflowing with too many good ideas that I can’t let them slip away. I absolutely have to write. Honestly, I even feel a bit anxious when I am not near my little yellow notebook (By the way, I think it’s going to die soon). What if a piece strikes me and I can’t write it down? It’s terrifying to me.
This is my passion. It’s what I love to do and I can’t neglect it. The crazy part to all of this is that writing is therapeutic for me. If I stay up until 1am writing I feel so much better. Better than I would ever feel if I would have gone to sleep with a head full of ideas and an empty notebook.
You could say I need rehab. I guess I need something, but for now I’ll stick to writing.