But tonight I find myself tired and browsing through unpublished posts. I came across this one from over two years ago. Enjoy.
Oh, and forgive the aphorisms, too.
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I find myself sitting before a blank screen tonight. I used to revel in the idea of a blank page--the alliteration of the "blank page" punctuates some of the plosive emotions I feel sitting in front of a blank page.
Some writers may feel the paralyzing fears of writers' block.
Tonight, however, I am not suffering from writers' block. I am suffering from the mundane and exhaustion of this winter. Like the rest of the MidWest, I am trudging through this winter, getting up early to teach classes and going to a second job. During one of my classes this past Saturday, we were talking about managing time and classwork and stress.
"What can we do to deal with stress?" I asked. The class talked about some of the regular answers--exercise, taking breaks, talking to people, eating right, and all the rest--and we started talking about how stress can get to be too much.
"And then what?"
One gal with bright red hair has a soft-spoken spunk I have grown to love. "I'm going to smoke a cigarette after class."
Another gal talked about withdrawing for weeks. Another young man talked depression. "What do we do when we can't do what we should do?" I was asking them more than that. Sure, we were talking about dealing with stress at school and balancing life, but I was asking for my own answers. What do I do when I don't have time to write? What can I do when I can't balance my own life? I want to write. Students expect me to have these answers.
The class turned to me. Someone asked what I did to deal with stress. "I run. I get up early." Then I took a breath and said something like, "I don't have any answers."
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