I can’t count how many times I crack open my computer, flip to WordPress, and open a “New Post” link. Each time is the same. I stare blankly at the white box (the one I am now filling with words) and my eyes glaze over. The grey “Enter title here” text goes all fuzzy, kind of like when you go to the eye doctor and they ask you to read the bottom line. Although you try your very hardest, you just can’t make sense of those last few letters.
I wish I could write. Oh, I truly wish I could. Late at night, I’ll be at my post behind the Circulation desk at the library and, between organizing book trucks to shelve and handing back printing (chirping “Five cents is your change!” in the most chipper voice possible after midnight), and the thought will flash across my mind: I want to blog. Sometimes I have an idea, sometimes I don’t. But in those moments, I miss the thrill of opening that “New Post” link and letting the words fly.
So I do it. I open a new link. But the words… the words just won’t come.
Why have my words abandoned me?
I blame academia. With all the essays I have to write week after week after week, my brain has no room to breathe. When I finally get a moment to actually write something for enjoyment, it’s so exhausted that it simply looks at the empty post and declares, “NO.”
It’s like there’s something stuck in my word generating system. It’s not like the words aren’t there. They are. I can feel them simmering just behind my ears, tiny assemblages of letters attempting to find a subject to fixate on. But then, when I attempt to access them, something gets in the way. My mind hits a wall and the words stir about, giggling maliciously to themselves as they dart away.
They think they’re so clever, those words.
Apparently, the words are sick and tired of being used for purposes they don’t want to be used for. They are in rebellion. “No,” they protest, “we hate being used to analyze visionary oscillation in Virginia Woolf’s novels. We don’t like being subjected to constructing a rhetorical criticism, even if we’ll be shedding light on Churchill and Lenin. What do you mean those interpersonal communication reflections should be a piece of cake? No! We think they’re stupid. We don’t want to help. Oh… you have to write some creative pieces for your class? Sorry. No can do.”
It’s very annoying when words don’t want to cooperate. I feel rather foolish, staring at that blank white box all the time, feeling all the potential words roiling in the back of my mind, knowing that none of them will be kind enough to come to my assistance. So I’m stuck here in my meta-world of writing about writing, wrapped in a ball of frustration, waiting for the semester to be over.