Mild (?) Schizophrenia

"Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia."

--E.L. Doctorow

Not that I'm like, a writer or anything. Because, well, I don't write enough for that. But, shit, can I at least claim that 'acceptable form of schizophrenia'?

Do normal people think random things, random bits of conversation that don't belong to you, haphazard, irrelevant ideas that you just have to throw out into the world? Does that happen to people who are not me?

Or does anyone else hold that incessant need to throw word onto paper? (Yeah. Okay. I'm using big words, I know. Trying to express myself in ways outside the norm. That's what writers do, isn't it?) Of course, as I said before, I don't classify as a writer. I mean, if you happened to stop me on the street and demand that I show you my written works, I might be able to show you a self-pitying poem written in sophomore biology class. That and some messy notebook pages reeking of headache-inducing amounts of Emily-angst from the past 6 years.

Yeah. Great. What a library I would make, right?

However--we must still acknowledge the fact that the written word is a special passion for me. How many teenagers today find excitement through book reviews? How many other people out there are the frequent companion to a nagging voice, incessantly whispering, write, write, write it down...

But yeah. Shit. That felt inspired, but my thought's gone now. Siblings watching Jurassic Park at top volume in the adjacent room does not in any way bolster my creativity.

So I am out.

Until next time, my nonexistant readers.