I think I have just crossed the border–that precarious border between sanity and the crazy wonderland, where everything is jumbled up, floating, flying, upside-down, and inside-out.
I think I’m officially insane.
How could I not be? I spend practically every waking hour at work–whether I’m sending out emails, drafting pieces, editing others’ work, attending meetings, cooking up schemes, or meeting someone for breakfast, lunch, cocktails, or dinner–all for the mighty love of words. I have no social life outside of my work activities, no *other* lives (ask my ever-patient husband), no time for rest, exercise, or well-being. I sleep beside my laptop, am held hostage by my Blackberry, and–sometimes–it takes me a while to realize that I have been holding my breath for nothing.
And sometimes (like now) I ask myself: What’s all this for? The money is close to pitiful, the glory is non-existent, and I don’t exactly know what brownie points it’s scoring me now.
Sigh. But that’s love, isn’t it? When you’re deeply, truly passionate about something that you can’t imagine yourself doing anything else? When it totally consumes you and, in some twisted way, nourishes you to the point that you need little else?
It’s love; it’s madness. It’s art; it’s addiction. It’s every single f**king thing in between.
I don’t know why on earth I’m doing this, but I can’t see myself not doing it anyway.