The tale Holly Myers has to tell is a gripping one. This piece of literature is leaps and bounds better than any other written in the last century. Actually, I take that back; it does appear to be the best paper in the tri-state area however. Congrats dude.

hmmmmmmmmmmmm... no class? yay.

Yesterday I realized why I used to enjoy writing so much. Basically, it stimulated my mind. I would attempt to piece together a puzzle, with each sentence being a piece. Crafting puzzles became one of my very few strong suites. Sadly, this is no longer the case; it appears that I have lost this skill.

Writer's Block

I didn't finish my draft. I began working on it, but had the worst case of writer's block I've ever experienced. It took me around two hours to get a sketchy paragraph-and-a-half down. I gave up, mainly because the frustration was driving me insane. I have never had this much trouble writing anything in my life, and it finally makes me feel how all the idiots in my high school English classes felt. Writing used to be my only strong suite, and now it's just another thing I'm awful at. Awesome.

God damn I have the worst writer's block I've ever had. After an hour, all I have written is a paragraph and a half, and not they're not even good. My block is so bad I'm having trouble writing this blog post. I'm mind fucking myself, that's what it is.

Vyvanse is made to help students procrastinate, contrary to popular belief. With the intent to begin writing my research draft, I eat one. Afterward, I wait for it to kick in; so naturally I play some Oblivion. This was a poor decision. I become engrossed in the game, wasting hours in the process. Shit happens. I'm not very upset about it.

Home

At night, I feel as if the world is laid out before me. I could go anywhere, if only I knew how to walk. I try, and my clumsy feet obstruct one another. I fall. It's a perpetual thing. I never hit the ground. I keep falling, yet the scenery never changes. I am stuck, alienated in a world that is all my own. This world is not laid about before me. This world repeats itself, a series of film strips that I have seen, time in time again. Boredom scuttles into my brain. I lose all emotional and physical feeling. The fall goes on. I think ahead and pray for the moment when I will hit the ground; the timeless earth surely will help me. It will jar the insanity out of me, won't it? What will happen after the hit? Is it possible for me to exist after this fall? The answer comes upon me with blinding speed; I hit. I get up, the memory of my fall becomes the smoke in the morning mist. I try to walk again; I fall.