Writing is for me like breathing. If I don't have access to pen and paper, I feel naked, exposed for the all the world to encroach upon my personal space and demand that I succumb to it's siren call of distraction, noise, chaos and over stimulation. As long as I can lose myself in a notebook or at the screen of my laptop, I feel I have, in a small way, conquered the growing madness of the modern world. I have no desire to hurry and rush and work my life away. Hard work is good; it's good for the soul as well as the body. But to throw ourselves away in mindless pursuits day after day without rest, without respite? It seems foolish to me.
I dream of a day when my work hours are filled with words and worlds, of my own creation, of inspiration. A day when I can breathe fresh air whenever I need to and not watch the clouds scuttle over a lazy summer sky from the sterile environment of an office. Until then, I'll keep writing, keep plodding away, eeking out time between answering phone calls. It's not much time, but it's my time. It's the time I've been given to pursue my dreams and I am determined to make the best of them.
Happy Friday everyone!
Enjoy your weekend,