Welcome to Jenn’s Inability to Write

                   First of all, I can’t write like this… I need one-inch margins. What is this 1.25-inch crap, Word? Gross.

Okay, now I can write.

But what do I write? I play over all the ideas I had driving in the car this morning, this afternoon, five minutes ago, every drive. All of that’s long gone. Why can’t I drive and write at the same time?  There’s gotta be an app for that!

Stream of consciousness is mundane and usually boring unless you’re in someone interesting’s mind such as a serial killer’s (that might be stretching it into the creepy side) or a celebrity’s (which might be just a bad idea in general since we let Miley’s parents get divorced sending her into a whirlwind similar to Britney Spears a few years ago… and then ended up with “twerk”ing teenagers). It looks like you’re just stuck in my head.

Sucks to suck!

All of these sayings I pick up from working as a high school teacher are just (sigh) messing with my professional writing skillz. <– crap, the “z”. Skills, excuse me. I am not sure if my writing inspiration is worn thin because I give verbal inspiration all day to my students who need it more than me or if I just value sleep over writing these days. Let’s examine…

“Zzzzzzzzzzzzz…” Shoot! It’s the latter.

I can sleep, and mostly if any activity involves my fleece, tie blanket, it’s hopeless of productivity. It’s my productivity’s kryptonite. It never stands a chance. Dead. Instantly. And if you know me, you know I am a productivity FREAK! (Supa freak, supa freak, I’m supa freakayy!) <– I might have acquired ADHD along with my sudden self-diagnosis of narcolepsy.

It’s just that a million things are going around and around in my head. It can be quite crowded in there, but as long as I identify this… identifying is the first step… I should be able to cope. I need to start a five-step program to detox myself from myself. Is that possible? Probs. <– again with the teen lingo. My bad. <– again! HELP MEEEE! (she yells into an echoey cave.)

At least I don’t call my non-existent boyfriend “Boo-thing”, which is all the rage these days among good intentioned, teenage girls, she said sarcastically. I swear it was pushing the acceptable lingo when I was in high school and calling my boyfriends my “Boy Toy”. Ew. Please.

As long as I keep this conscious state of realizing the line between acceptable language to adapt into my lexicon (LEXICON! See, I still have advanced, linguistic language going on!) I should be able to maintain composure. But we all know composure for me is a total face I paint on along with foundation and bronzer in the wee hours of 6 a.m. I always think of the bronzer as my sass ingredient to my mood each day. Some days need a little more than others for that extra kick, of course.

This is not at all what I intended to write.



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