Writer's Block.

I HAVE LITERALLY BEEN WORKING ON THIS ARTICLE FOR A WEEK AND I HAVE NOTHING!!

ZILCH.

NADA.

ZERO.

I know ALL CAPS can be annoying but that's exactly what I am right now. ANNOYED!!

I sorta thought that I would be a natural at this whole magazine writing thing. You know, I have the imigination, the crazy childhood, and the insight to be this crazy soulful writer. A writer that makes my professors be like PUBLIC POLICY?? YOU CRAZAY FOOL! YOU MISSED YOUR CALLING! IT'S WRITING!!

In fact, I wanted, prayed, and dreamed that would happen. That my purpose in life would just fall in my lap. That this beautiful swell of music would play in my heart and mind as I pound the typewriter, eyes racing with the cursor, and flowing with the energy in my huge, vast, wise, mind.

reality.check.

That doesn't happen. Even when you cut on Pandora. Tried that.

Or drink Coca-cola. Tried that.

Or look at photography to inspire you. Tried that.

So, what I am dealing with is an article that is kicking me in the butt. hard. like black belt hard.

and the fact, that God might not have made the whole "I'm a writer" be the answer to the question that hounds me: WHO IN THE FREAK AM I??

Heavenly Father, I sorta of thought this would be the window. But I think it's a door.

The phrase when God closes a door, He opens a window hounds me. I keep finding doors. I need some windows. A) because it is getting stuffy B) I just really want some answers.

Well, the barge industry might not be a Pulitzer. Or maybe even "A" worthy. But at least, it has given me the reality check that I needed to cash-in.

I know, I know, don't give up. But seriously guys. It's 2:15 in the morning. And I have exactly 2 paragraphs. This is for a magazine. A MAGAZINE! Not a for a TA. Not for a professor. But for a public. (!!!)And a darn good public at that. The whole "I'm so over college thing" doesn't really apply to this because...in a sense..this ain't college. This is life.

And so here I am back at square one. Yet revitalized that at least I can still write on this here blog. Even if it is fragments, run-on sentences, and a contraction or two..or three...or four...

I truly feel like the star in every movie/tv show that is just so angsty about not being able to write. And in a way, I feel like Carrie Bradshaw at the end of the Sex and the City. Ranting to her laptop and making sense out of life.

She just has better shoes than me. That's all.

So xoxo, Carrie Bradshaw-esque (but not really) Breland

PS-Carrie, I totes have your hair. Just sayin'