There happen to be times when I feel compelled to write, only, I think I’ve forgotten how to enjoy it.  I hope this isn’t true, because I’ve written the first three sentences more times than I think I should need to.  True, all I do during the day is write to get paid.  Double spacing used to mean nothing to me.  Now it’s a habit I can’t shake.  It’s not even like I ache to write.  I just miss the moments when it was more pleasure, less business.  Less measured, more bliss.  Less piss and moan, groan and cast stones, because really, this is my burden to own.  I should be able to do both, write for me, focus on my growth, while still being able to bring home that loaf.  I guess it’s the escapism, ne, embracing the reality that is really, real to most…