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.
Leave a comment