by - 8:19 PM

I think I have writer's block.

I always wondered what it was like, and actually, I kind of thought it was stupid. 

And then, I blocked. And every word I typed, every phrase I thought out, and every sentence that I crafted, just sort of started to sound like I wrote it in kindergarten. Or worse, like I wrote it during 11th grade, when I thought that sappy meant emotional which collectively might mean freakin' great.

I wrote a lot of cheese in high school. Like, an entire warehouse full of Cheez-its, kind of cheese. 

I haven't written anything that I think is worth keeping since the early part of this year. That's a whole lot of shit writing. If this were the '80's, there would be stacks of garbage cans filled to the brim with crumpled up papers. But it's not the 80's and so instead, I have a hundred saved documents with dumb words and unfinished thoughts. 

I read once that Stephen King abhors using adverbs because they're weak. You guys, my documents are power-packed with adverbs. Adverbs effing everywhere. If parts of speech were money, the adverbs would be pennies, because I am just making it rain with those fuckers. 

Have a fabulously adverby adverb, said the adverb brightly. The adverb thought silently, before furiously adverbing the shit out of that adverb for being so ridiculously and unnecessarily adverby. 

You know what I read most recently? Harry freakin' Potter. My brain is melting you guys, it's like I only have room for things like Candy Crush and Netflix. It stems from adverb laziness, no doubt, but I just can't get it together. 

Worse, I bought leather pants and I have nowhere to wear them. It is weird if I pretend that it's totally normal to wear leather to the library? Because I'm really considering it. 

I'm rambling. You know what this is? It's the breaking point -- it's when the fat girl cries on The Biggest Loser and Jillian Michaels finally figures out what the root of the problem is, why she's fat, and the change can finally begin. I'm the crying fat girl right now. And I've watched enough Biggest Loser to know that it's always emotional. Always. I need Jillian Michaels to knock on my door, yell at me until I cry and throw some shit around and finally figure out my emotional problems, so I can shed the metaphorical pounds and start writing again. 

I just want to write. That's all. 


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