There are a few things in life that you just have to do.  For some it's eating.  Others feel compelled to breathe on occasion.  Para moi, the compulsion is writing.

If I discipline myself or am forced by circumstance the itch may be held at bay for days, maybe even weeks.  Take school for instance.  Robbed of my free time, I haven't been able to write properly for weeks.  Today the itch became to strong to resist.  Abandoning my studies for midterm exams tomorrow, I've broken down and started writing.

Is it H1N1?  Is it ebola or the black death making a comeback?  No one knows, but it's certainly sweeping the college campus right now like a redheaded stepchild put to task by an evil stepmother.  In the span of 24 hours I went from perfectly fine, to feeling like I was completely silt-faced and brain-smashed intoxicated, to puking my guts out in the bathroom stall, then sweating in bed some more, then back to perfectly fine.  Now my circadian rhythms are so screwed up I couldn't sleep from 11 to 7 if you drugged me.  Thus, this blog.

I heard a great quote today, and I thought I'd share it:

"I'd rather hate myself for failure than regret my whole life never trying."

It's hard to write when you only have one hand. At least it's my write (right) hand, though. That makes things a little easier.

It's been a while, but I'm finally writing in my first blog post.  Please feel free to comment below.  It's one of those bright, moonlight-filled nights that always seems to keep me up.  I've laid in bed with my iPod for an hour now, so I guess it's time to finally try my favorite and most cathartic pastime: writing.