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).
16 hours ago