In the dark time, from the point of my departure from an abbreviated college stint until 2001, I didn�t write. That's like 20 years if you're counting. Oh maybe some darkly crafted business letters, birthday card notes. Little stuff.

Being online eventually will make you write. I sent an e-mail to a local band after seeing them perform live, a longish sort of glowing review that must have struck the female singer in some positive fashion, and she basically told me if I didn�t start writing again she wouldn�t sing anymore.

Or something along those lines. It might have been just an encouraging grunt. I�ve never been one to interpret very accurately. Point is, it put the germ back in my head. There are times I wish she hadn�t ever done that.

Because it really is true. I write because I have to.

I was writing the other night, sitting here in the holy recliner while Ally watched TV next to me. Tapping keys and oblivious. And she rose from her chair with a sigh, clicked off the set and began to walk out of the room with a slow stride. �Going to bed, see ya.� It was abrupt enough to stir me from the fog.

�What�s up, honey? Are you all right?�

�Why are you up at this hour typing on the laptop,� she asked quietly.

�I�m writing a story, wanna read it?� I�m forever willing to share, see.

�No, I don�t. It just gets to me when you fall into that world of yours, that writing world. It�s something you do and I know that but it�s just a place I can�t go to, you�ve got a world out there that I�m not a part of at all.�

I didn�t have any happy words for her, I apologized for putting her out there without a lifeline. Reading, writing, it makes no difference. I�m an aloof and silent bastard when words start flittering around. I know this and don�t know what to do about it. I know I don�t want to drive my wife nearly to tears over it.

There�s also last night, same room and same chairs, sans laptop. I was reclined here after one of the more awful days I�ve had recently and thinking to myself, �I wish nothing more right now, right this second than for Ally to come over here and sit in this chair with me for a minute.�

And that�s exactly what she did.

I don�t know how she knew. It�s not something we do very often at all, sharing a chair. If she read my mind she did a very thorough job of it. And it makes me wonder.

Maybe she�s not quite so far away from my world as she thinks. It's a mystic and swirling sort of place sometimes.

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