My husband has a chronic case of it, a lifelong case I'm afraid. Laura does too (hers couldn't be helped considering her location and surroundings) and her compulsion is shared by her husband Doug. Then there's Erin, she's been showing signs for quite a while (the signs are less easy to pinpoint with her though - no damn permalinks!) but had an acute attack recently. Last night, I found out that Zilla is also a sufferer. Even Ang, yes, even Ang has it, and brags that she exposes her son to it daily. Laurie has it, it runs in her family, and her area is very supportive.
It's sweeping the nation, and I'm having a relapse. It's not pretty when I get it, and there will inevitably be death, but for me, being in such close proximity to Scott means that I too have been exposed. I resist it, write about it even, but find evidence of it in even the smallest of things.
But eventually the urge becomes irresistible. Sparked by some stimulus (Thanks again Zilla) I become overwhelmed by the need. And so, this weekend I will indulge myself, I will binge. There will be fountains and a waterfall. There will be cupcakes and supernovas and memories, and I'll be happy, and I'll cry, and it will be good.