It’s 12:27 on a Sunday Night. I should be asleep, not writing on a blog. I’ll be up in five and half hours. Why am I on this? To be honest, I don’t know. I think I’m kind of addicted to writing. That could be credited to my Writing 121 teacher who sparked a newfound appreciation for the art, or it could just be me. Maybe I’ve always been interested in writing and now is the first time I’ve demonstrated it in a public manner. Except I’ve never had a journal, so it hasn’t presented itself in a private manner, either.
Nonetheless, I’m addicted. The feeling of taking an amazing picture is something I cherish; the feeling after you snap a breathtaking photo I would want to relive for the rest of my life. The same goes for when you finish a piece of writing. Just last Friday, I turned in a 3,850 word essay in. And just last night (three hours ago), I turned in a 1,000 word reflection for it. One would think that I’m tired of writing, yet here I am. I keep coming back. I’d hesitate to say writing and photography is my drug because I’ve never experienced the effects, but I’d say it’s close. When I finished my essay, I was relieved. I was happy. I was eager–eager to write more.
Not write more essays. Don’t get it twisted.
Write more. Write more on this. Write more in a journal. Write more in a place where I could write anything I wanted and not have to fit into guidelines.
I think I’m becoming addicted to writing.