My thoughts have been so mangled lately that it's almost overwhelming to write. When I want to write, it's almost as if I feel too overrun by the massive amount of thoughts, so when I sign into Blogger, I sit and stare at a blank page and let the cursor, um, curse me.
How funny. Maybe that is why it's called a cursor? It haunts any writers mind, like a ticking time bomb, that never explodes or implodes - it only clicks. Do you see how much my mind has been through? Maybe it's all the Sushi I've been eating.
How funny. Maybe that is why it's called a cursor? It haunts any writers mind, like a ticking time bomb, that never explodes or implodes - it only clicks. Do you see how much my mind has been through? Maybe it's all the Sushi I've been eating.
This is me.
I feel like I'm stressing out over so many things, but I'm also hoarding these stresses away in my personal Pandora box - it sits cozily in the back of my mind, unopened until that precise moment the matter needs to be faced and beaten to death, or just taken care of.
One of these things just happens to be the scholarship for Atlas Shrugged. I have to write an extremely long paper for the chance to be a winner of a grand $10,000. It just so happens to be one of my favorite books so far, so it should be fairly easy to spew the words. I wake up thinking of the book, so I write until my little mind is drained and do it all over again. It's a vicious cycle.
You better wish me some kind of luck, though. I take it in the form of kisses, hugs, gifts, money, etc. Then we can dance.
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