Saturday, May 31, 2008

We All Have Our Crack Pipes



After twenty solid minutes of playing outside, this obsessed little mutt promptly brought me his slobber soaked ball and demanded - yes, DEMANDED (watch the video) - that we continue our exercise in the hallway - half the hallway actually as it runs the entire length of the house and I was afraid he'd have a stroke. He CAN'T stop. Even if his tongue is hanging out and he's gasping for his last breath, he can't help himself. He can't stop. Oh, and no hesitating in between throws either or he gets very testy! He needs his fix!

Toby is an addict and that yellow tennis ball is his crack pipe. That ball stalks me. Wherever I go in my house, it suddenly appears. Look up and there's half an ear or nose waiting around the door for me to get the hint. I go to the bathroom and the ball appears. Look up. The ear is waiting around the door again. It's like a fetch horror movie.

And, today it dawned on me.

I, too, have a crack pipe. Even when I'm dog tired and collapsing in my bed, there are still stories swirling around in my head. I'll go to my laptop with an agonizing migraine (yeah, they're back - I dropped my meds) rather than let a story fade with time. Last night - er, this morning, I was writing notes at 4:00 a.m. because I had a brilliant - BRILLIANT - idea on the way to the bathroom.

I shudder to think what that idea reads like in the light of day, but that's not the point. The point is that we all have our crack pipes - metaphorically speaking. Writing is mine. And, possibly yours since you obviously read writer blogs...

7 comments:

E.C. Henry said...

Glad to hear you're writing your ideas down when they come, Maryan. Sorry to hear about the headaches, though.

Don't believe the corrolation you draw between a dog wanting to fetch a ball, being addicited to crack, and then your bridge to a writer odd timing in recieving inspiration. Deffinately not your typical "A" game post.

Smoking crack is the fast track to destroying your life. My aunt works at DSHS where she makes determinations on who gets what when it comes to state aid money, and she shudders when recounting tails of crack and meth use on people.

I too have dogs that like to do what they do when they want to do it, and its nothing like doing drugs. My golden retriever, Hobbs, just pulled up next to me. That means he's working an angle to go running. Yep, he just flashed me with his "sad" eyes, BUT he'll get his run later when I'm ready to give it to him. You see, I'm the master, not the other way arround. So now I ask you, who's running this assylum, the warden or the immates?

- E.C. Henry from Bonney Lake, WA

MaryAn Batchellor said...

We all have additions to one degree or another - mine are writing and music and sometimes caffeine. Some addictions are, indeed, serious. I'm not being flippant. A friend of mine buried her son two months ago due to a drug overdose. Ever sung at a funeral for a drug addict? Ouch. Another friend has spent well over $200,000 on rehab centers for her son. With three sons of my own, I take drug addiction seriously - but my dog's addiction? Gotta laugh.

Don't overthink the post, E.C. It's just a simile. Oops. Gotta go. Somebody just dropped his tennis ball onto my laptop...

Unk said...

OMFG.

Unk

MaryAn Batchellor said...

You gotta give me more than that, Unk!!!

Anonymous said...

Love reading what people think of the Nicholl. The anticipation, excitement, the hope it inspires. I see that you are hell-bent on winning a fellowship, which is a tremendous honor for sure, but even the quarter- and semi-finalists get inundated with requests. Best of luck, MaryAn, I sincerely hope your inbox/voicemail is full come early Oct.

MaryAn Batchellor said...

Grats, Anon. I wish 6,000 other people weren't hell bent on winning one, too.

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