A Frustrated Writer

     Dark clouds overhang melodramatically in the Minnesotan skyline this afternoon.  They tease at the possibility of an April shower tonight, but you could never be quite sure.  It was Minnesota after all.  I am sitting in a Caribou coffee shop in the midst of the Edina corporate jungle, looking out large open windows to a concrete view of traffic.  My writer self is trying to get me to take this time and write something.  Something.  Anything.  I was writing a story, but it is dying a slow, painful death like the future of my creative career.  How does a writer find their story?  According to the picture painted by the media, a writer without a story is the most depressingly hopeless creature in this ecosystem.  They are doomed to be snuffed into a dark, dusty closet, desperately searching for inspiration through any crack of light they find.
     I feel like the writer, Alan Bennett, from the film, The Lady In The Van.  His writer self (which in his mind was a separate persona from himself) was so frustrated with his actual person because of his inadequate lifestyle to draw inspiration from.  Great movie by the way.
     I'm not sure if my lifestyle is the sole reason for my lack of having something to write about on a daily basis, but I know my writer self is indefinitely frustrated with me.  I'm hoping the pressure of college will motivate me, and cultivate some sort of discipline in my lax life.  In the meantime, back to work tomorrow and hoping I'll spend my weekend next week more productively.  But at least I wrote this little ditty, I guess.

Until next time,

Alyxandra Sarik