I’m a compulsive writer

I’m a compulsive writer. If I walk by a blank chalkboard in some empty classroom, I’ll feel a compulsion to pick up a piece of chalk and scribble a bunch of words on it.

For several decades I kept a daily diary and compulsively filled notebooks full of words. I have hundreds and hundreds of journals in my storage locker filled with my compulsive writing. Boxes and boxes full of notebooks — every page of which is full of my hand-written blatherings. Just scribbling on and on in endlessly cursive writing.

Some writers talk about the problem of “writer’s block.” I had the opposite problem. I could never shut up. I just kept writing and writing and writing. I couldn’t stop doing it.

I enjoyed it. I enjoyed doing it. I didn’t even care if anybody read it. I just had to get it out of my system. It was like taking a shit in a way.

And I’m still doing it now. On Facebook and my blogs.

And I’ll probably keep doing it until somebody finally beats me over the head and says SHUT THE FUCK UP!

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