Madness

I wrote this yesterday, just didn't have the energy to post... it was a long night.

Does That Make Me Crazy:

I am quite positive that all writers must be partially insane. Not only because of the crazy voices in their heads, but for ever choosing this profession. Why the hell do we willingly do this to ourselves? Willingly submit to the madness and give our bodies over to forces that are not our own. I don't control me, the stories compel me. It's why I'm sitting here in the dark at 5am typing this rather than sleeping. It's why I agonized over every word I wrote for class tonight. It's why I get so excited everything writing happens. Every time something falls together in a decent way. I hate it. I hate it. I hate writing. I that what it's done to me. I love writing. I live writing. I love what it's made of me.

Am I going to be stuck in this love hate relationship for the rest of my life? I feel I will. I don't think I have any other choice. The words, they've captured me. I'm a hostage in my own mind. How weird is that? Captured and compelled by the very essence of myself. What I'd give to be normal again. To not stay awake in the night dreaming of writing and writing of dreaming. It'd be grand if I knew how to do anything else. I think I know what Brad meant now. Get out if you can, if you can do anything else, do it. Once it grabs you, there's no letting go.

Maybe I'll tell my dad I'm going to grad school. Not law school, grad school. If I don't write, I'll probably go mad. More so I mean. If that's even possible.

Quote of the Day:

"How could you be so Dr. Evil?"

- Kanye West (Heartless)