I’m having writers’ block. Bloggers’ block? Bloggers’ block. (I made that up, I’m claiming that. You read it here first.) Seriously though, I’m struggling. My life seems to be becoming half the real life sitcom it used to be, and I’m just drowning in required university reading and the guilt of putting off said reading. But I’m going to try and write something. Just to give it a go.
Some people like to procrastinate. I like to do what I call “Planning.” See, this sounds productive, but my idea of planning my writing pieces is locking myself in my room with chocolate, panicking about what I’m going to write about, achieving nothing for hours and then shutting my laptop and lying in foetal position. So procrastinating with a productive title really.
I’ve tried the artsy methods: Journaling, drinking coffee, staring out my window for inspiration from nature. Except, I live on a main road in Newcastle so the only thing close to nature here is rowdy MTV wannabes bouncing around in packs.
I’ve tried the academic methods: reading up on pop culture, trying to be politically engaged. Still, nothing. Nothing feels new or exciting enough to present to the internet. There’s not even many people reading this, but still, it’s terrifying. But… There’s got to be a way around this fear, right? Maybe I need to take up a new hobby that isn’t drinking trebles in Empress Bar every Thursday, or travel more.
Basically, this is a cop out post. I needed to write something, to prove to myself I could, so here I am. I’m writing about not writing. I’m sorry, this is just terrible. I’ll show my self out.