Oh, the things we give up to do things we truly want to do. For me, last night it was sleep. I’m pretty sure this is how a zombie feels just before their insatiable taste for flesh kicks in. If I was a zombie, I think I’d only eat pretty people. It’s a heath option, really. When you go to the market, you don’t typically look for the cut of steak with the most fat and grizzle, do you?
Okay. Reeling the tangent in. My focus tends to waver the less sleep I get. I’ll do my best, but I’m not promising anything.
So what I want is to write. It’s an addiction I don’t do well without. My fiction writing diet has been slim as of late, and due to be slimmer after the new year. And let me tell you. Writing withdrawals don’t go away. They amplify with time to the point I want to snarl, kick and bite the people around me. So for the sake of all my loved ones (who cares about the rest, really), I force the writing out at times that aren’t prime.
The night time is the right time.
I sneak away for a few hours in the evening until everyone at home is tucked away, dreaming of pleasant non-zombie-like things. Then I come back home, hopefully with a few thousand words or so stored in my laptop. Some nights I can go directly to bed. Most nights, like last night, the addiction gets the better of me, and I crack open Harvey (that’s my laptop) and wring out a hundred or more words.
Sure my eyes are sunk in with heavy bags underneath, and my feet drag more than walk, but I got a good fix last night. This high should last for a bit. So I’m a zombie with a smile.
Presented with the choice of either being a mean, angry, bite-at-anything-that-moves zombie or a smiling, doddering, kinda-cute-in-a-flesh-decaying-sorta-way zombie. I’ll ditch the sleep and choose the latter any day.
What do you give up to do the things you really want to do?