Writings in the Sand

Writing a Check

I can remember the days when I used to get up at 4:30 am to write. Ideas desiring to become words drove me from my bed and sat me in front of the flickering light of an old CRT monitor, a fan blowing on the open side of the PC tower in order to prevent it overheating.

I remember so many fumbled attempts to make coffee before my eyes even opened and the coffee pot I destroyed by making coffee without water while virtually sleepwalking.

I don't know what fueled that need to write. Was it inner turmoil? Passion? Competition?

Whatever it was, it's gone. I no longer engage in emotional shouting matches with myself that eventually become poems. No flashes of brilliance get scribbled on scraps of paper to flesh out later.

I write, but it’s like I’m writing a check. Paying dues. I don't even make coffee in my sleep anymore. I set up the pot the night before and just flip the switch in the morning. I turn on the laptop and open YouTube and watch videos to avoid writing anything until a deadline forces the requisite number of words into lines.

I think I miss the clunky old PC.