Writing, writing, writing. I spend most of my time writing. And I am getting tired of it. Ever more tired. “Most important, “ I wrote a few days ago, “I want to write less” (“My Resolutions, Again,” December 12, 2014). My preoccupation with writing records has been driving me crazy lately. What is worse, I have become fascinated with records, and especially the approaching three-million words to my Residua (“My Fucking Records,” November 20, 2014). Tired of records, I now live in hope that my writing will gradually dwindle to where it was at the beginning of my project (“My New Theory,” October 19, 2014). But my hope was shattered yesterday evening, when I came across a piece of mine written a couple of years ago that expresses the same threadbare hope (“Writing for the Sake of Writing,” October 1, 2012). Horrified by my inability to control my writing drive, I wrote another addendum to the piece I discovered. While writing, I came upon the word that struck me as most appropriate for my writing obsession: addiction. Whence this piece, of course. Addiction is defined as compulsive pursuit of rewarding stimuli in spite of their adverse consequences. All addictive behaviors are self-reinforcing but the ultimate satisfaction of the pursuit is forever out of reach. My writing addiction fits this description perfectly. And so do the inane records I am striving after. In the addendum I wrote yesterday evening, I joked about Writers Anonymous. This morning I searched for it on the World Wide Web, and I found a whole bunch of websites dedicated to writing addiction. Sadly, none of them struck me as particularly helpful in my case. Thus I will have to address my writing addiction all by myself. And in writing, of course.

Addendum I (January 30, 2016)

Well, I am out of the woods already, and without anyone’s help. I am happy to report that January 28, 2016, was the first fallow day in more than a decade (“Just Another Tyranny,” January 29, 2016). Quite a few such days will follow soon, I am happy to announce, as well (“Fallow Days Galore,” January 30, 2016). Now that I spend ever more of my time without a thought in my head, I am ever better at spending my days without writing, either. Nothing to it, as it were. As for Writers Anonymous, the joke strikes me as propitious enough at his juncture. Such an organization would be a godsend to many a writing addict. And my book about yoga, which will be finished in just a few days, can serve as its unshakable platform. The book of books. All those who suffer from writing addiction will appreciate it sooner or later, I am quite sure. A bit more than a hundred-thousand words is all it takes, after all.

Addendum II (May 9, 2020)

In retrospect, the invention of fallow days was but a first step in my struggle with the writing addiction. The real trick was my five-year plan, which organized fallow days over a good stretch of time (“My Five-Year Plan,” December 29, 2016). As it happens, the current year is the last one covered by the plan, and it is my hope that I will not need any more tricks of this nature starting next year. Looking forward, I expect to write no more than a hundred pieces and as many addenda each year, adding up to fifty-thousand words at most (“Nifty Numbers,” March 1, 2016). With some luck, these numbers will be going down over the next decade or two. But I may complete my magnum opus well before I kick the bucket (“Thinking Ahead: A Note on the Completion of My Writing Project,” March 2, 2020). An addendum here or there would be my very last intrusions into my writing project. Enough speculation, though. I am happy to report that my writing addiction is history by now. And I cannot imagine it returning any time in the future. Alleluia!