A Paper I Wrote for my English Class... I Was Supposed to Write About My Life.

I sit, staring at the computer screen with cold, hard determination. Through my mind, ideas are forming and coming forward, only to be repressed by the wall known as “writer’s block.” Frantically, I search the recesses of my psyche for an idea, some event in my life to write about. Something, anything, but it is all for naught. Minutes go by, turning to hours. Hours, to days. Sooner than flesh is burned on an open flame, the day the assignment that has plagued me is due grows hauntingly close. I can do nothing.

            Still at the computer, still begging my wits, “Mr. Grobachev, tear down this wall,” a cold sweat begins to form on my brow. I have taken to locking myself in the study, thinking by the dim, golden light of a candle. “Distraught” is an understatement in the description of my state of mind. The clock slowly counts down with a ticking that reminds of the impending doom, every second. Alas, I feel both hopeless and helpless. With a sigh, I slowly move to close the screen of the laptop.

            As I somberly leave behind an unfinished, unstarted work of possible genius, I am thrust to the ground with the intense flow of a fantastic concept. I trip over myself and the chair as I rush back to my seat, and rip open the mouth of the Toshiba on my desk. Word is already up. I begin typing with such a fierce intensity my fingers begin to bleed. At least, it feels that way. Before me, the tiniest inkling of a thought begins to unfold. It seems the happiest day of my life.

            Despite days and days of incessant absence of ideas, I prevailed with an inspiration of unexpected creativity. I decided to write about the very thing I was doing, or rather, failing to do, even though my life is chock full of uneventful life events.