Yet as I sit cross-legged on my bed with my phone face down and buried in the comforter and pages strewn about, I chew on the end of my pen and wait for the dread that had been the third spoke of the wheel all those years ago. The knowledge that I couldn’t sustain this if I wanted room in my life for anything but words. That there were things I wanted that I could never have with the schedule I was put on. That even Ryan was secondary to my work.

But the dread doesn’t come. Instead, it’s more like a piece of me that had been missing has found its way back and snapped into place. Like a lost earring found under a cushion. And instead of being painful to look at, Ryan’s familiar, red-penned handwriting is comforting in the dead of night, like an old friend. The lack of sleep propels me forward rather than drags me down. Newton was right—a body in motion stays in motion. When a writer starts, she can’t stop until the job is done. I’ll sleep and eat when it’s over. It’ll be worth it again, just like it was before.

It has to. Because I’m starting to realize I don’t fully know who I am without this.

As Friday night bleeds into Saturday morning, I finally send off the updated manuscript to Ryan and Trina and expect not to hear anything until Monday when they are both back in the office. I flop over onto my bed without bothering to remove the laptop from it and relish in the accomplishment.

My elation is rudely interrupted simultaneously by my growling stomach and several dings from my phone. Bleary eyed, I look around the bed, figuring it’ll be easier to stop the noise from the phone than that from my stomach if my last raid of a mostly-empty pantry is any indication. I pat the comforter and shift papers around, eventually shoving them off the bed since I don’t need them anymore anyway. The phone dings again, which is when I realize the sound is coming directly from underneath me. Sure enough, when I scoot my ass over, I’ve been sitting on it. Thank god no one was here to see that. Ryan used to give me shit about that kind of thing all the time. For some reason, that reminder is painful, and an otherwise-forgotten memory comes clearly into focus.

“How is it you knew exactly where page sixty-nine was when I asked you about the concert scene half an hour ago, but you can’t remember where you put your phone?” Ryan poked my ribs teasingly.