I. Simply. Can't. Write. Anymore. 
I missed writing on my birthday because I was surrounded by friends who went to great lengths to give me a "surprise" birthday party.
That I knew about it days beforehand due to the slip-ups of my sister didn't diminish the fact that I really enjoyed and appreciated the fake kidnapping, the cute pig hats and costumes, that irritating song, those darned photos, and the warm company they gave me that night.
Thanks guys! You know who you are. Special thanks goes to the big fat mastermind behind that operation. Hehehe. I love you dear.
I missed writing for much of the past year for a lot of reasons.
School work took up much of my time and also drained me of any drive to write (for leisure, that is). It really is ironic that it took a course about writing to remove much of the fun I had before with writing. Work kind of does that I think; before Journalism I was writing because I wanted to and because I enjoyed it. Now I'm writing mostly because I have to and that's what is expected of me.
Procrastination and laziness also kept me from putting my thoughts to paper. Sitting here in front of the computer, I have three choices: blog, Facebook, or computer games. Two of those things I do religiously. One I have all but forgotten. It's simply too easy to just laze around and do nothing productive at all.
There is also the lack of inspiration. What the hell do I write about? Who cares about what happens in my everyday life? Why should I put my innermost thoughts out on the Internet for everyone to see? Why should I write about issues and current events which happen again and again and again? It's frustrating.
I wouldn't want to consider myself burned out, but I sure feel like it. Nothing new comes out of my mind. I find it hard to do the things I enjoyed doing before. It's too easy to be distracted or to put off things I should be doing (here my thesis says "hi!"). Every day seems like a chore, another 24 hours to live through instead of to live for.
It's not just writing anymore. Everything seems like another obstacle, a problem, or a source of stress. Things like my surprise birthday party seem like islands of happiness in a sea of gloom. Islands which are fast becoming a rarity.
Twenty-three years later and here I am. Quarter-life crisis? I hope not.
I missed writing on my birthday because I was surrounded by friends who went to great lengths to give me a "surprise" birthday party.
That I knew about it days beforehand due to the slip-ups of my sister didn't diminish the fact that I really enjoyed and appreciated the fake kidnapping, the cute pig hats and costumes, that irritating song, those darned photos, and the warm company they gave me that night.
Thanks guys! You know who you are. Special thanks goes to the big fat mastermind behind that operation. Hehehe. I love you dear.
I missed writing for much of the past year for a lot of reasons.
School work took up much of my time and also drained me of any drive to write (for leisure, that is). It really is ironic that it took a course about writing to remove much of the fun I had before with writing. Work kind of does that I think; before Journalism I was writing because I wanted to and because I enjoyed it. Now I'm writing mostly because I have to and that's what is expected of me.
Procrastination and laziness also kept me from putting my thoughts to paper. Sitting here in front of the computer, I have three choices: blog, Facebook, or computer games. Two of those things I do religiously. One I have all but forgotten. It's simply too easy to just laze around and do nothing productive at all.
There is also the lack of inspiration. What the hell do I write about? Who cares about what happens in my everyday life? Why should I put my innermost thoughts out on the Internet for everyone to see? Why should I write about issues and current events which happen again and again and again? It's frustrating.
I wouldn't want to consider myself burned out, but I sure feel like it. Nothing new comes out of my mind. I find it hard to do the things I enjoyed doing before. It's too easy to be distracted or to put off things I should be doing (here my thesis says "hi!"). Every day seems like a chore, another 24 hours to live through instead of to live for.
It's not just writing anymore. Everything seems like another obstacle, a problem, or a source of stress. Things like my surprise birthday party seem like islands of happiness in a sea of gloom. Islands which are fast becoming a rarity.
Twenty-three years later and here I am. Quarter-life crisis? I hope not.
