Dear reader, I won’t sugarcoat it: This week’s article was a trial to write. I hate to say it, but I’ve had horrible writer’s block. For those of you who may not know, “writer’s block” is when you nicely ask your brain to come up with creative ideas and funny stories, and it instead decides to make you re-watch “Friends,” or simply run the mental highlight reel of embarrassing moments from when you were eight. Although writer’s block is not usually a big deal, it did put me in a precarious situation, as I do write for this illustrious paper. How would anyone in this school function if not for my weekly incoherent ramblings and wacky ideas that I try to convince myself are comedy and not in fact…a…cry…for…help…
In an effort to combat this vacuum of ideas, I decided that it would probably be best to get my body moving, and hopefully I’d curdle up some ideas in my churning bloodstream. What better way to do this than to go for a quick run around Vassar? It shouldn’t be so difficult, considering that I am in pretty good shape…granted I haven’t exercised in two years, eat horribly and barely drink water. (Okay, looking back now, running isn’t really anyone’s wisest decision.)
I started jogging and made it about halfway to Kenyon before I was run off the road by an old man in a mobility scooter. Though I may have been slower than a herd of turtles attempting to stampede through a spread of Deece SunButter, I gained something from that run. The ideas were now flowing out of every orifice of my body. Wait, that wasn’t ideas. It was sweat. I was sweating an alarming amount, actually. I should be fine though.
I woke up in Baldwin a few hours later, well-rested and full of ideas! Oh no wait, that was the IV drip. At least now that my fluids were replenished I could buckle down and focus solely on writing, and nothing, absolutely NOTHING, would distract me from my task. Phone buzzes Okay whoever that is will just have to wait! “Season 8 of ‘American Horror Story’ now available”…shit. Netflix sensed my weakness and attacked. I needed to be strong enough to ignore this enticing invitation from the God of Procrastination and hope that it would be lenient with me after my years of devoted worship. My problem ended up solving itself when I dropped my phone and it shattered into 347 pieces. Well that’s iPhones for you. The phone was a small price to pay in order to escape from the clutches of streaming television.
I wandered off into the outside world and escaped the dreadful monotony that can be college life. By escape, I mean I went to the quad and lay under a tree in the desperate hope that someone or something would do ANYTHING remotely funny so I could exploit their pain for cheap laughs in a newspaper. After a few seconds of nothing substantial happening, I began to panic that my short career as Assistant Humor Editor would be over, and that my colleagues at the paper would blackball me from every other newspaper in town. Either that or force me to type stories for seven hours straight until my fingers bled in a “Whiplash”-like fashion, as the chief editor bellowed “No Oxford commas!” every time my trembling hands keyed one in.
Perhaps I was being slightly dramatic about the response I would get from the newspaper staff, but it means a lot to me that I manage to write something worthy of this illustrious Humor section. I have a long tradition to uphold and much to prove as a writer; I can’t just write any random thing about how my day was and add exaggerated, ridiculous responses and try to pass that off as a story. That would be horribly unprofessional and lazy…Well, I guess things worked out for the best this time.