Having taken a few days away from writing, I found myself yesterday with this aching feeling, an anxious feeling that was nearly as though I had gulped too much coffee. It manifested as sort of a twitching in my arms and chest, and at times I felt as though I couldn’t get enough air in my lungs regardless of how deeply I inhaled and how forcefully I exhaled. One word banged around in my brain to the point of about giving me a migraine: write.
But I was barely near a computer all day. I had errands, I had appointments, I had obligations. It wasn’t until late in the evening that I returned home and had the time to sit and drain from my head and muscles the energy that was inflicting such discomfort all day long. I wrote. In the famous words of Red Smith, I opened a vein. It was cathartic, like a long overdue kiss from the one you love; like a satisfying meal when you’ve not eaten for days. I wrote for four straight hours and didn’t get to bed until after 2:00 in the morning. The crazed aching in my body subsided as I emptied it into ideas which shaped themselves into a story. The relaxation I felt after was total and consuming. I slept more soundly than I have for weeks.
Of course, I had to be up at 6:30 to get to work by 8:00. That part hurts a little, but it was so worth the missing sleep. Sleep is overrated if you ask me.
The amazing part of it was to discover this morning, when I had finished class and had a chance to review the purging from the night before, what I’ve got is pretty good. It’s not perfect, but it is a solid foundation from which I can build this story, and it moves in directions that are surprising and believable.
The muscles in my arms and chest are not so jumpy today, though as I write this, part of me says “Hurry up!” I’ve got work to do, and I need to take advantage of this wave I’m riding.