This Writing Thing

This writing thing, it seems

like a curse some days. It makes me

no money

and takes all my thinking, all my

time and attention, keeps me away

from things I should be doing, family stuff,

jobs around the house, things that

non-writers do without even

thinking about them. And some days,

after fighting for writing time, causing

upset and anger and problems for

people around me, I can sit

and stare

at a blank wall,

with a blank mind,

in front of a blank screen

for hours.

Then three words come, and that’s it

for the day.

In disgust, I walk away, and stay away

for days, but it has me, this opioid habit,

it won’t let me go, and I come back to it

days later, and squeeze three more

petty little words

out of my head, and I go round again.

What makes it worse is this:

if I could sit here all day

every day

and do the exact same thing,

I would.

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