It wasn't easy driving as I was squinting the whole way and giving myself a headache in the process. I got home wondering what I was going to do--I can't write, I can't read, I can't even watch TV (which I rarely do anyway); this is my writing time but it hurts to see and the light from screens and even reflecting off of paper is painful. I made lunch. I cleaned up. I wandered around my kitchen. The truth is, I often wonder what I'd do if I wasn't writing (besides having a normal, well-paying job like most aspiring Americans) and now I have my answer: nothing. I need to write.
So I am squinting down at the keyboard instead of the screen, wearing sunglasses as I type and popping two Advil against the eyestrain because the truth is, I can't NOT write. So here's to the stubbornest among us: the artists who can't imagine doing anything else but weave and breathe story lines!