I'm staring at this blank box, used for writing. It stares back at me like the endless pages of blankness that have existed in every writer's past.
I want to write. I need to write. I can't write. I am writing. Sustenance? Is it in this though?
I don't know.
Writer's block is a joke, to me.
Honestly, I didn't know what to write about 20 seconds ago. Now look at me, here I am going on some tangent. You know what matters though: that I am writing, that words are being put down and making coherent sentences, at least to me.
Stop waiting for an idea and start making ideas into reality. You don't even really need an idea. Start with, "He was walking..." "I turned to her with a smile..." "The trees shook a bit with the wind..." I might even do this.
I could hear that noise. Flip flop. That's where they got their name from. That is an extremely annoying noise when it's over exaggerated. Like...now. I want to tear up those flip flops like John Kerry's shot at being President. This hallway amplifies that sound, the hard tile floors and the cinder block walls do not help my desire for the noise to go away. Then, keys. Damn keys. Seriously, do you need 6 different keys all hanging from the same chain around your neck? Do you use them that often? Put them in your bag. I'm kind of in a bad mood. Life will go on. I'll smile at the next cute girl I see. That always seems to do the trick.