Enabling My New Addiction

I’m six months entrenched in my new addiction.  It follows me when into my dreams as I sleep, it comes with me to work, and I sit through meals fidgeting until I can politely excuse myself to go get a fix.  I daydream about the moments I can sweep together from the day’s busyness so I can retreat to my desk to write.  You might recall that my last post avowed a writing fast.  It lasted about 36 hours.  Pretty decent as far as comestible fasts go…but wholly failing in what I claimed to be doing.

In my weak defense, it was a tough week, and I was drained from adventures in extreme baby caring over the weekend. I longed for the comfort of my book and bed.  The pressure I put on myself to compose quantifiable words every day was more than I could agree to, so I shrugged it off.   It was a good example of irony though, as I wrote through the very anxieties I was experiencing.  Maybe it was a way of giving myself permission to take a few days off from the 500 word/day minimum I set for myself.  Yesterday morning, I woke, dressed for a run, then looked outside to see soaking, sideways rain–so I returned to bed for two more hours of sleep.  Last night I was sleeping by 8pm after falling between the last pages of The Prisoner of Heaven.  Yesterday I was gentle with myself, and it was all the fasting I needed.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

As a side note, I’d like to acknowledge a certain loved one who has presently decided to step out of my life.  She has a history with a much more serious addiction than my tongue-in-cheek writing addiction I claim to have here.  She knows who she is, and I can only hope she’s reading these inane blogged words in the rss in her email like she told me she was doing a month ago.  Why she has decided to not be present in my life right now is not a question I’m capable of paining myself with anymore.  My anger is gone; what remains is a deep welt of hurt, fear, and sadness.

So: my dear sweet M, please know that whatever you’re going through, your recent actions are a thousand times more disturbing and upsetting than the catalyst.  Shrugging me off is even more painful than it is to have lost my father.  At least he didn’t choose to leave my life.  Please come back.

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