A person witnesses me writing furiously in my notebook, or typing 75 wpm on my computer.
They ask, “What are you doing?”
I reply, “Writing.”
They ask, “Essay?”
Cue confused expression. “Then why are you writing?”
Well, because I love it, of course. It cannot be hard to comprehend that there are people who actually have hobbies that they practice frequently without having to be told by anyone to do so, things that they practice even when there’s nothing at stake, and nothing is riding on them, things that they do for no particular reason other than that they want to.
I know where I cast my blame.