Literary · Personal

These walls.

These walls used to inspire me. They used to foster within me the ability to complete any assignment. Now as I sit at my desk to write a paper, my mind blanks. My fingers hover over the keys ready to start, but they don’t. The empty word document shines white, fresh and ready to go.

I try another approach. I set paper on my bed, I put the book next to me and I tell myself to create the outline. Once an outline is done the paper is practically finished, all you have to do is glue your ideas together with some pretty words. I’m good at using pretty words to get my point across. But as I sit on my bed, my mind wanders. The pen I dug out of my backpack lays on the paper and the book remains unopened.

In my head are all of these ideas, ideas that I was once able to clearly communicate on paper. Now they remain in my head, I’ve lost even the elementary ability to verbalize them.

Perhaps, I could send in the link to this blog. Perhaps then my professor will see, I want to write her paper. I want my idea to flow from my fingertips as easily as tears spill from my eyes but they don’t. And after days of trying, my resolve is breaking. What kind of English major can’t even write a simple analytical paper on a book they’ve read twice?

~K.D.

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