I Don’t Have Writer’s Block

I have much imagination and not enough sociability. Which isn’t exactly true either. This summer hasn’t been very sociable I should state. But if I were to write about my day, I would be writing about how a giant fire engine pulled up in front of my apartment with a police escort to deal with an outbreak of drunken nonsense in front of my house. I would be writing about how I didn’t have to work today and how this job is finally wrapping up, thank goodness. Maybe I would write about the fact that even though my summer completely sucked, I was able to pull off a financial magician’s trick that will propel me into the next semester (quarter). This is strange because despite not having that much fun, somehow I get to live and continue my pursuit of happiness. I could also write about how impressed I am with my new editing technique, and that despite the fact I’m halfway through the novel, I haven’t developed a “platform.” I’ll have to get to that later when I realize the massive social implications it entails. Maybe I could tell y’all about how I watched JFK today, and totally believe in the conspiracy surrounding his death, or maybe I could write about how I refuse to give up because the world is already full of losers.

What I think I’m truly learning is that the human being is a social animal, and that people need to feed of each other as a method of survival. This is the first summer I’ve been this alone as I’ve been enrolled the past few, or working retail, a job that while not paying good, comes with the friendship of many nice people. Not having someone to reciprocate and bounce ideas off and share in life with can do odd stuff to the mind should one go too long without contact. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not categorically isolated here, I’m just not doing the type of socializing I’m used to. That being said, sometimes when there’s no one to share life with, writer’s block doesn’t become such an issue as much as the problem of inspiration does. Having great conversation in the morning prompts me to want to go write, but being alone is sort of like, “What do I do.” Finally, I get around to writing. Of course, if I had kids I wouldn’t be having conversations, unless it was while I was cooking waffles; no, I’d probably be gone at sunrise doing that dreadful job to pay for their existence. But since this isn’t the case, I guess I have a unique life where I’m temporarily in the twilight zone; everything I’m experiencing is all strange detour.

I have everything I own nearly all bundled up and packed so I can go be with human beings. The walls are white with picture absence and the manager has been notified of my pending departure.

Will I succeed? Will I graduate and finally get the career that will propel me into the future? Will I finally get her into my arms for that passionate kiss as I proclaim victory over the forces that tried to destroy me!?

Maybe I’m pushing it a little here, but stayed tuned anyways just in case…

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This entry was posted in life, personal, Psychology, relationships, Uncategorized, writing. Bookmark the permalink.

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