Writing

  Sometimes lately, I get the urge to write.  I’m not sure why this is.  I mean how can you live for almost thirty years and then one day wake up and think, “Hmm, I want to write?”  It seems somewhat an unusual idea, but here I am at eight o’clock on a Saturday night, in front of my computer while my husband has taken my oldest son to the movies.  It’s like the little voice in the deep recesses of my mind has emerged from hibernation and taken over and exiled the timid, logical, non-writing, normal self to the nearest cave with a blanket and a cupboard full of food.  I haven’t quite decided if this new development is something I’m willing to embrace or if I need to gather up a search and rescue team to look for the old me.