I stare at the screen. Just this morning, I had sat in science with ideas pouring through my head. I’d been sure I’d have plenty to write about once I managed to get a computer in my hands.
Now the blank document is open, and the cursor is flashing in the left-hand corner. My brain is as blank as it can be. This shouldn’t be possible. How have all the ideas disappeared together? A few were following me around all day, yet they’ve chosen now to disappear.
I cross my arms on the desk and drop my head down to rest on top, groaning as I stare at the back of my eyelids.
This always happens. Always. For a week I’ve come home full of ideas only to sit in front of the computer like this yet again. I’m a failure. A complete and utter failure. Why did I think today would be any different?
I close out of the document and push away from the computer, thinking I’ll have to give up. I’m not cut out for this.
Even as I think it, I know I’ll be in front of the computer at the same time and place come tomorrow.