can’t understand how i can’t write. too much on my mind? maybe. definitely. but i’m a creative person, supposedly brimming with ideas. sooner or the later the build-up is going to come out in the form of something less useful, like poop or semen. i don’t need more of those! i remember, three weeks ago, i was in love with my screenplay. writing it was tough, sure, but it was a chore that i enjoyed. now, i can’t even bring myself to open final draft because i’m scared i’ll sit and stare at the blank page for too long. the potential guilt is killing me!

at least i can still write about myself. can’t escape the ego.

this fucking weekend, man. you’d think after four years in college my life would settle down into some kind of rhythm, but it only seems to be getting more absurd. this is it! the climax! watch out folks, there’s no telling how it’s going to end! i can’t wait for the shymalalansnsdksjdkj twist in april. gonna freak everyone out!

SPOILER: turns out i’m a toaster.

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