The Obsession

I fight it everyday. I wish to purge it. I insist on denying it's existence

I am spontaneous by nature, desire, and vocation. It is the passion of my heart not to be ruled by clock or calendar. I am laid back and accepting of most things. I honestly like to walk barefoot on the beach, on a field, across the floor; I love walking barefoot. I offer this as introduction and explanation, possibly a plea for understanding. I am not sure I can admit this, yet I know I must. I must.

Did I mention that I am delightfully right-brained? I am able to let go those things that I cannot complete due to lack of skill or knowledge or allowing for the growth of others. Oh, I understand that in the charge of duty certain activities demand completion once started, that projects need bringing to fruition; however, my right brain tells me that there are times when it is not the end product but the process that is important. Yes, I am able to release many a thing in my life except one thing. One little activity that once I begin I must finish regardless of pain, inconvenience, or desire.

I have tried to break this anal-retentive, obsessive-compulsive behavior, really I have to let it go. I have even walked away, started a new one, even two yet I return to the first by a force that grabs me squarely by the soul rendering me incapable of resistance.

Now, gentle reader, time has come to reveal this vile curse placed on my easy going nature. Please do not judge me by my fault. Allow me the benefit of succor, acceptance, understanding because though I am an intelligent person I am unable to set a book down unfinished. That’s right, if I start a book I must read it to its completed plot line, last line, and last word regardless of how horrid the writing or storyline may be. Do you know how frustrating this type of obsession is? Think of the worst book you have ever read, I mean a real stinker. Did you finish it or did you throw it to the Elements? I have taken a full year to finish a minor novel because it was so bad. Try as I might, like the unseen heart of the old man, I can hear it calling me back accusingly, I can’t resist its Sirens’ call.

There I have purged my weakness and somehow feel relieved. Still I know that somewhere out there in the Great Unforeseen there lies a book waiting for me to take hold its deceptive cover, its inviting blurb, taunting me, tempting me just waiting for me to fall into its devious clutches.