Getting high on my addiction

I've been feverishly writing lately. Not here, as you may notice, and definitely not at my work. Well, I have been writing a lot there, but I don't put any passion on it. To be true, most of the time I don't even know what I am talking about. I don't know, I don't own and I probably never will buy any of that stuff I'm selling. Fancy overpriced stuff does not appeal to a girl of simple taste and priceless dreams.

For the first time in my life I found a story that is worth telling. For the first time since I became an adult I'm really feeling pleased in putting on paper (literally, for I do handwrite most of the time), the story that I want to be remembered for. The story I want my daughter to read and think "My mom is definitely cool."

And though I have no time for doing anything else in my life than working at that damn office, I wake up when everything is still dark, just to have a chance of writting a few lines more. Each letter is hardly a sacrifice, instead is a work that makes me feel more alive, makes me revigorated and happy, refreshing hopes and painting my dreams in even more vivid colors. It's amazing how I feel about it. Writing the things I love to write about. I might be dead by the morning, but at least now I know at least a bit, a little bit part of the most beautiful thing I've ever done, will be left.

Or maybe I should finish this first, and then fake my own death. Dead authors are more likely to become best sellers.


What am I talking about, anyway...even this blog is a complete fail. Not counting the visitors from Russia: I don't know a single breathing soul in that country, but they seem to like my writing.

Hello, Russia! If there is any editor interested in publishing my material, I'm available..!