Preface: The blog section will usually be filled with our accounts of the adventures and activities that come along with LA life, but not today. Today, the blog will be updated with my account of inactivity, only to be appreciated by those with a sense of humor. Godspeed, dear readers.

I’m sitting here, on my blue, Ikea loveseat, completely powerless. Writing is usually something that comes easily, but right now I’m questioning why anyone ever has ever decided to pay me for it…no offense to any past employers.

Writing isn’t just a hobby for me. It’s a passion, a way of life, and a way to make some scrilla…look that up on Urban Dictionary.

It’s 1 AM, and my laptop screen is a blank, useless, wasted canvas. It is times like these that make me wish I was a literary Jackson Pollock, colorful words dripping from my fingertips, decorating the page with inspired ideas. But instead I sit here, watching one of the lesser entertaining episodes of Californication; one that I’ve already seen before, at that.

“Where can I get some inspiration?” I ask myself as I mentally scramble to grasp on to any idea that could pour a little gasoline on the fire. But at this point my brain is so frustrated that I can’t find anything even slightly incendiary, so I tried finding it in a bag of cheddar Sun Chips. Didn’t work. But now my boyfriend is playing with my hair and I think I’m making some progress. If hair follicle stimulation doesn’t encourage synapse-activity, I don’t know what possibly could.

All I know for certain is that I suck and that my writing ability in no way reflects the fact that I have a degree in journalism…or even that I am even college educated.

“Why is this so difficult,” I ask the gods of writing. It’s not like I’m trying to bust out a Pulitzer Prize winning expose here, a 500 word movie review would suffice…as long as it’s intelligible. But even still, nothing is in my mind but the maniacal taunting of depraved clowns, mocking me for my inability to produce content.

As difficult as it is to say, I’m just going to have to accept the fact that tonight I have failed all attempts at providing the world with delicate prose flavored with subtle nuances of life, emotion and the human experience. Yet, tomorrow is a new day, and a new chance to delve into my mind and try to wrestle out a meaningful article from the tangles of my thoughts.

All I can do is hope for the best.

Writer's block, illuminated.

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