The writing disease

Writing disease is a thing and I totally have it.

I’m not talking about writers block… or a compulsion to put words to paper/screen. I’m talking about an actual, physical disease.

Look at my hands!

It’s spreading to my other hand!

Symptoms:

• Bizarre purple splotches everywhere, including surrounding paper products. (It’s a rare disease that can jump from live human cells to dead plant matter mixed with chemicals.)

• Inability to stop drawing attention to said purple splotches.

• Inability to stop fiddling with leaking pen, leading to more… wait for it… purple splotches.

If left unchecked, writing disease eventually leads to:

• Assumed hipsterism. (Look at my stained hands, people! I’m an ARTISTE… I operate squarely in that super-hands on, Hemingway space. I need to be stained by my efforts or it’s not real.)

• Perception by coworkers (such as my director) that you’re part of some bizarre cooking fight club. (Cooking fight club causes easily visible hand bruises instead of places more easily hidden by clothing. It’s the second rule.)

But seriously, I just washed my hands twelve times and then moisturized a hundred times and the ink stains are still there. <sigh>

{Switches to other pen in hopes that this will stave off proliferation of symptoms and/or save my new white sweater from becoming a bad Jackson Pollock exploration on wool}

Artfully places Pilot Vanishing Point retractable fountain pen on totally serviceable Japanese notebook

I might actually have a disease. I’ll leave it open to interpretation whether it’s the one I’ve just described, or another one entirely (and probably mental). Either way, feel free to chime in with your treatment ideas.