Writer's Block-Ade

So this semester I have classes two days a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Five classes, spread out unevenly over two days. And every Tuesday and every Thursday (well, on the two so far that I've had this semester), I look in the mirror in the morning and think to myself, "Today's the day. Today's the day that I will drop out of school and go play the ukulele at some intersection for money, and those three middle school kids will spit on me as they steal the few quarters or so that I will have, but it'll be okay, since I won't have to go to my 7:30 morning class". But for some reason, I'm always too tired to follow through on that, so I go to my classes grumpily, muttering to myself about how I would rather be doing anything else, namely sleeping.



(Apparently when I sleep I don't understand the concept of a blanket, that it's supposed to go over your whole body... no wonder my feet always feel cold when I wake up, and I constantly have dreams that I'm walking barefoot on snow.)

Anyways.

Having classes two days a week means I have a lot of free time, and one of my goals for this semester was to start writing again. I used to love writing, mainly short stories about crazy worlds and aliens and people made out of bubble-gum. Seriously. One of my favorite little stories that I ever wrote was about people who were made out of bubble-gum. First place in the 7th grade Literary Fair, hell yeah.

But a few years back, just a little while before high school ended, I stopped writing. I don't know why. I had reached my author-peak sometime in the middle of high school, and then writing became a chore and so I stopped.

Well, before this semester started I was all, "Okay. Story time again. I will be like The Beatles, the fucking Beatles, churning out story after story like they churned out albums. Fuck yes."

And so last Monday I whipped out a pen and paper and had this awesome idea and started writing and wrote the best little story I have ever written and sent it out and it was published by Strange Horizons Magazine and... and none of that really happened. I just stared at the paper, not knowing what the hell I was doing, like when you fall asleep in math class and then look at the homework and then silently pout because you know there is no way, there is NO WAY, that you will know what to do.

Fuck writer's block.

The end, because I don't know what else to write, because I have writer's block right now. You know how they made Gatorade for athlete's to help them with conditioning and electrolytes and stuff? Hey, UF kids, work on something for the literary bunch, called "Writer's Block-Ade" or something, to stimulate our brains in ways they haven't been stimulated before.

Thanks :)