I hate staring at a blank page. It burns my eyes. I feel stupid now because I’m writing about writing. It’s dumb. Nobody should ever do this. It’s lazy. I’m not even a writer, I’m just writing, and I’m writing because I put myself in a creative writing class and now I’m complaining that I have to write creatively. And I’m so critical of myself, too. I just finished going through the thirty plus scripts I’ve written in the past year and all of them sound so f-ing dumb.

   I feel like everything’s been done before, now. I was going to write a new script, but everything I could think of sounded so contrived and stupid — but now that I’m saying that, I’m thinking that if I stuck to one of them, if I believed in one of them enough, that it would be so great, and that maybe I could even make it with my friends, but maybe I’m just a bad writer.

   Anyway, I was thinking about writing a script, but it didn’t work out, right? And so then I was thinking about writing a poem, but I thought, “that’d be lazy,” which it isn’t, and so here I am at nine o’clock on a Saturday night, sitting alone in my room doing the laziest thing, writing about writing, and I feel like a f-ing loser. I hung out with my friends last night and it was great, but I want to do that again, especially instead of this. And now I’m ranting, but it doesn’t feel good… but it doesn’t feel bad. It just feels.

   I’ve just opened back up the app I use to write scripts because I thought that I had an idea and then I wouldn’t have to read this in class, but I didn’t.

   I think my problem is that I think about location too much. I think about the environment of the character too much before I even write the damn thing, and then I get frustrated because I was thinking about specific lines, and now I’m forgetting about them and so I write them down anyways, but then they sound so dumb on paper, and then I get mad at myself for not being able to write all free and happily like I used to do, and then I quit the app without saving. This cycle repeats at least twice a week, and all of that is dumb. So annoyingly, greatly, stupidly dumb.

   breathe

   Now I’m thinking about the lack of things I have to complain about. Which is a dumb problem to have. It’s an awful thing to say, but I think if I was less happy and had more things to complain about, my writing would be more interesting.  I’d probably have so much more to pull from. Is that an awful thing to say? I guess that’s for you to decide. By this point this is turning into that short story from last class that was just that stream of thoughts, and I hate that. Not the story, but the fact that I’m doing the story, kind of, probably not even close to as well. I hate pulling from other’s work because it makes me feel unoriginal. It makes me feel so absent-minded, so uncreative.

   Maybe it’s Indio’s fault. That story brought everyone to tears and now I’m sitting here complaining about my stupid problems, which is the fact that I literally have nothing else to complain about. Well nothing that matters, really. I’m not in any fights with anybody nor do I have anyone to hate because I try really hard to be nice to everybody and therefore everyone is nice back to me, which is great, which sucks.

   Maybe I should stick to acting, stick to having someone write it for me. I’ve been told I’m good at it, but that’s really pretentious to say, so forget I did. Maybe I should start writing things for myself and then act it out in the mirror and then hate myself for how bad my acting is because of how bad my f-ing writing is. Someone please cast me in their better-written short film.

   breathe

This is so dumb. I’m sorry you guys had to hear this. Well, you don’t really have to and I’m not really that sorry, but I am a little bit sorry. So, sorry. I hope that one day someone can one-up Indio, or is that mean to say? Is it mean to wish for someone else to be worse than you? I feel like it is. I’m probably jealous. I wish I could just write something and it be the greatest thing ever, and then someone throws fifty million dollars at me to turn it into a movie, and then, in turn, we all make that amount times one hundred, and then everybody wins. If only that was the case. I should’ve written a poem or just one of my crappy scripts. I mean, I still can, and everyone listening to me read this out loud with my dumb voice probably wishes I did, which is dumb. God. Oh my god. I need to stop now, because this is getting out of hand, and KLT is probably wishing she added some sort of boundary to this kind of thing. I wish I wrote better, or maybe it’s that I need to be more confident in it. Maybe I’m just scared. That’s dumb. No it isn’t. Being scared isn’t dumb, it’s human. Maybe if I was more human and had more things to be sad about, my writing would be less dumb. Maybe my writing needs to be more human. That’s probably it. But what do I know, I’m not even a writer.

   That’s a dumb line.