Satisfying my urge.

I wake. In the middle of the night, With an urge. To write. Nothing in particular. Just to write. Words. Isn’t that peculiar? Don’t want to read a book. Or watch TV.  Or to have a snack. Not even go to the bathroom. Instead, I sit down at my computer. And write. Silently. Many years ago. There would have been the clickity-clack of a typewriter. Makes me wonder. If I were isolated. On a desert island. Without modern conveniences. And without a pen or pencil or paper.  Would I still be compelled to write? Or would I merely think unrecorded thoughts?  Or just go back to sleep? I suspect. That I might go into a funk. For being denied. My urge to write. Nonsense.  --Jim Broede