I write for medicinal purposes.
Writing is a drug. Not a bad drug. It's more like an antidepressant— with magical powers. When taken daily, I feel good about myself. The people close to me find me more pleasant to be around.
I’m better looking after I’ve written. I can see it in the bathroom mirror, or the reflection of a storefront window.
When I write daily, life is easier. My checking account doesn’t seem as empty. Food is more delicious (noticeable through the yummy noises I make with each bite). Picking up dog poop in the back yard isn't so bad. Diapers get changed with a big smile instead of a grimace. Blue sky or thunderstorm, full moon or pitch black, I’m always looking up. Looking forward.
But if I lapse in my writing time, skip a day or a week, I sink into a hole of self-loathing and general grumpiness. I'm fat, poor, and old. I want to hide from the world.
I don't have to write. It's a choice. I don't have to get on the treadmill everyday. I don't have to eat foods low in saturated fats or take my omega 3 supplements. I don't have to get out of bed in the morning. Every day I have a choice. Who do I choose to be?
I choose to be good looking. I choose to have the people around me want to stick around. I choose to be a good husband, father, son, uncle, in-law, brother, friend, WRITER.
So I must put forth the effort, and take my medicine.
