Everybody Else Is Doing It

I gave my room a good once over this week and I found something I'd been looking for since the summer. It was a much used, very tattered binder which contains a lot of stuff I've written over the years. Things that date back to high school. I found it under my bed in a rubbermaid tote. I pulled them out, and leaned back against my bed frame and read some of the things I wrote. Most of them were funny. I cracked myself up reading stuff I'd had to write for creative composition. I think my favorite was on the topic "Pretend your character getting dressed in the morning, and your sneakers are mad at you. Write a scenario in which they discuss the problem with you and you resolve the issue." My character's problem? He was stepping in too much dog poop. *Nods* They didn't want to go anywhere with him because of that. But that's not really why I'm writing.

I remember that I used to be able to write anytime, under any circumstance, with any mood. I used to write poems like crazy. Some that were like something Shel Silverstein would write, some from the bottom of my broken heart, some just because there was nothing on tv. As I got to the more recent stuff (all styles) I realized something. It appears that I can only write when something unsavory happens, or when I'm feeling melancholy. I'm having trouble just forming this into coherant paragraphs (and I'm not even positive I'm doing that.) I think I need to take a class. Or maybe, just figure out how to reverse my maturity. Maybe I can do funny once again if I were mentally 15 again? It might not, but I'm willing to try.


Get me a YM and Seventeen magazine STAT. I need the telephone for 8 hours too please!