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The Irony

I want to write, but nothing comes. Every beginning sentence seems wrong, and I find myself continuously hitting the “backspace” key, over and over. Waking up this morning, I felt today’s blog post was going to be good—maybe a poem, short story, or even song—a lead into what was to come for this semester of Creative Writing class. However, too much is going on: anger, disappointment, regret. Why am I alone on this Saturday night? Why did he not show up when we had made plans? Why do I always count on him when I know he has let me down so many times before? Couple these feelings with so much school work, and I am truly overwhelmed.  My mind is bombarded with so many thoughts that I can’t possibly write anything worth creating, much less posting online for others to see.


About woodh2013

I'm the girl that's named after the famous city of lights and cameras, but am too shy to talk to the kid sitting next to me in class. I'm the girl that blasts opera while I commute to and from school, but is in the crowds of rock shows on Friday nights. I'm the girl who can't draw to save her life, but takes beautiful pictures. I'm the girl who worries about everything, even when things aren't so bad. I can't be put in a box, so you want to know more? Read my work.

2 responses to “The Irony

  1. Maybe a different title would work better?

  2. woodh2013

    I meant it to mean that it was ironic that I said I couldn’t write, but I was writing a post the whole time.

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