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10 Jul 2010

Scribble Me Crazy

Some years ago, I developed a technique at work, where I could just write down things I needed to work effectively, so that I could clear the clutter off my head. Not only did I not have to worry about remembering things but I could work effortlessly on my bad days because it was all out there, I did not need to rack my brain. I've worked efficiently using that technique for a long time.

Like most workaholics who don't have a life outside of work, I slowly introduced my 'effective work techniques' into my personal life. Unintentionally, of course. Rather unfortunately, this was one of them. Soon, I developed a compulsive need to write down things. Not because I did not want to remember but I felt the urge to write anything I thought was worth remembering. Journals, "pen-friends", blogs, tweets, my choices were endless... I could go anywhere and put down stuff, depending on how much privacy I wanted with the information. Gradually, my mind refused to assimilate matter. It just spit out stuff, like a gum that has lost all it's juiciness after chewing for a while.

Not before long, urge turned into obsession into addiction. I had to write. I met these wonderful people today and listened to some fabulous stories. Now, my hand itches to write those stories, about those stories, about the people. I'm tempted to write about my new experiences. It's not a bad thing, is it? Except that if I sat down to write, I would fill hours and pages without stopping for a week or two. 

When did that happen? What would I do if I were left in a place with wonderful things around me but no laptop, no mobile, no paper or pen? I don't know.

As I hold myself back from spending endless hours online, struggling to get over my urges, I battle with my mind. It spews out memories as if they had an expiry date, I refuse to let it. So far, I've mostly failed but the war rages on. Let's see who will win this one...

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