I Write, Therefor I Am

Words are like oxygen to me. I write therefor I am. When I don't write in the very textually way, I write in my head. Wherever I am, whatever I do, whoever I'm with, words keep demanding attention inside my head, please let us put this moment, this experience into words. Since I'm helpless and completely infatuated by them, I fall for their allures every single time.

I suppose I've always been fascinated by words and the way one can express the most beautiful - and the most hateful - things by using these tiny, strange lines and curves in different ways. There's even a photographic evidence of me demanding access to very specific words at the tender age of about 1 year.

I love that picture of little tanned, bald me from behind. I could barely stand by myself, the only things I had on were big diapers and over sized underwear. I had my mind set on some very specific book in my grandfather's bookshelf - which book is today unclear - and when nobody was looking I began pulling out all his books and papers.

The picture is taken from behind and it shows very clearly, in an upright, focused way, just how much I'm ignoring the oh-nos and please-stops in my search for the right words.

I guess I've continued on that path ever since. Even if I haven't always known it's the fascination for words that has got me where I am, was, have been - I now know. It hasn't exactly been a straight line - I haven't always been as focused as when I once upon a time rummaged through that bookshelf.

I've always excelled when it was time for essays and papers in school - and yes, I had a vivid imagination from an early age, so the essays tended to be rather imaginative... - and that's something I've always been proud of. My way with words.

And yes, one is allowed to be proud of oneself, proud of a certain achievement, a certain standpoint, even of looking particularly good in a certain dress without feeling embarrassed or keeping up the appearance of a false modesty.

There are many things I have absolutely no talent whatsoever for - or desire to learn - there are many things I get by in doing and others I'd just love to learn, whether I have a talent for them or not remains to be seen. And then there are word(l)y things I'm just so blessedly good at that I sometimes impress myself - and I'm not easily impressed. At all.

I'm finicky about what I display to others - as well as being finicky about what others show off... - there's most always room for improvement. Even if I most certainly have my bad word days, as well as the bad hair ones. And there's definitely some written stuff over the years I'm very much less than proud of - in a non false modesty way - whatever was I thinking, if at all...?

Some - of course only ignorant ones... - might think I'm sometimes meticulous slightly verge on obsessive. And yes I hate to have made a sloppy proofread and misspelled a word, or two, or more...

But I consider that to be a benefit rather than a flaw. I just wish more people could be meticulous about how they use their words, not to mention spelling. If you use words in a haphazardly way and can't be bothered with spelling and proofread - then you've lost a part of your soul.

Sometimes I used to wake up in the middle of the night with a feeling of eureka, this will be the icing-on-the-decision-writing-cake! Things happened and after having had, what appeared like, an endless row of sleepless nights followed by days that were gray and wordless I slowly, tentatively began dreaming in words, thinking in words, writing down words. Putting thoughts and feelings into words on paper, on computer display. Such a liberating feeling! Suddenly the black-and-white wor(l)d turned into colour. Again.

And now I've conceded, there's no escape, only sweet surrender, to words, those delectable, savoury, fascinating lines, dots and curves. I yield.