Hello Old Work

As I sit here in the designated "writing corner" of my room, I sift through old boxes, filled with binders and folders and random papers and other useless junk. Most of this is ready to go into the trash, but, being me, I have to go through every bit of it to see what I want to keep. I'm much like a hoarder that way, and that's something that I get from my parents. (My mother has the perfect base mentality for a hoarder and my father is a paper packrat. Moving on...)

So, as I go through all these papers and junk, I find many old poems that I wrote starting in my Freshman year. There are so many, it's unbelievable. (It's unbelievable because I wrote so much before my inspiration ran out, which is about a two year span.) I just wish that I still had the drive to write, the ability to keep writing. I've had writer's cube (Yes, cube. It's that bad.) for the past two years. I've barely written a thing, and what comes out, I'm lucky to have produced. My imagination's deep well seems to have run dry.

I suppose that, if I truly loved to write anymore, it would bother me more. On occasion I'll enjoy writing, but that's normally only when an idea pops into my head and it actually works and isn't so much of a struggle as it is a simple transferance of thought to paper.

I've come across old stories that I've written (mostly fanfiction) and things I've written for old boyfriends...What did I do with them? I threw them away. Unless it's a poem, my main form of writing because it's what I'm good at, and it doesn't suck, I won't keep it. Simple enough, yes? And as soon as those poems are up on here or on my DeviantArt, I'll throw them away, too.

C'est fini.