Dear Writer’s Block,
It’s not you, it’s me.
The truth is, I was never really that into you. Sure, you have some appealing traits, like how you make me not to worry about anything other than when I take a nap, or how many missions I get done in Watch Dogs, or how many episodes of Gossip Girl I can watch in a day, but, it really doesn’t make me feel good. I dread having to spend time with you each day. It’s just so boring. You never want to do anything worthwhile or fun. You just want to distract me. It’s selfish, Writer’s Block, and I’m sick your tricks.
Even if I have a few words down for the day, it’s better than nothing, so no, Writer’s Block, we can’t keep this up.
I’m going to write notes and plot ideas, and outlines for scenes, just to get back in the mind-set of being without you, Writer’s Block. I’m tired of having good ideas, and then sitting at the computer, stuck, not knowing how to get down the great ideas I had that morning. I have too many things I need to do, and I can’t do them with you always needing attention, and trying to get your way. I’m tired of Netflix, and free games on the Kindle. I want to do my own thing, a productive thing, and you just aren’t interested in the same things I am.
I’m going to make a pot of coffee in the morning, sit down, and get work done. I’ve lived without you, Writer’s Block, for a long time before, and it’s time for me to do it again.
Don’t take it personally, Writer’s Block. You’re just not my type. (Get it? Type? Eh, you never did appreciate my dopey sense of humor.)