I must confess.
Why am I back at this ridiculous blog again, twice in one day, after I have taken a grueling exam? No, not because I think I am so witty or insightful that the world needs to know what I am thinking. And certainly not because I have readers that are anxiously awaiting my words. I mean, have you seen my comments section? Zero, zip, nada, nil. Nix, nine, no, nuh-uh-uh, as my mother would say.
I'm here because I'm like Stella. I need to get my groove back.
Whoa! Not like that, people. I meant writing. I used to write ALL THE TIME. My mom pulled her hair out because there were papers all over my room, and she wasn't allowed to throw any of them out. I stuck post it notes to my walls because I would get good ideas in my dreams. I wrote in class, and I got in trouble for it. Except for Mr. V. He encouraged it, gave me a book to write in, and told me to major in English in college. Whenever my swim team or my homeroom or any other such group had secret santas, I would have a blank book. And I loved it! I wrote through college, and loved every paper. My poetry class was the most fun I had every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. And my senior thesis...oh, Virginia Woolf. How I love thee.
Law school sucked the creativity out of me. I couldn't write, I couldn't read, I couldn't create. I didn't dream, except for those odd dreams of my contracts books eating my fingers off. Now that I am finishing my second year of law school, it has finally dawned on me what the problem is. I need interaction!
Yes, I have friends. I socialize. I talk to Vor every day. But in college, I was always volunteering, which brought me into contact with all kinds of people. I hadn't had time for that in law school until this past semester, when I joined a Clinic. Then, slowly, the writing came back. Little rhymes in the margin, little phrases on post it notes. Bliss.
So, I am here again. I'm the woman with whose going to disassemble the Great Wall of Writer's Block with my hands, even if it kills me (or breaks my nails).