On Writer's Block

Here I am, a writer, using the cliche fallback of penning a piece concerning the terrible state of not quite knowing what to write about. When I had the idea for this blog as I was sipping my classic coffee frappuccino from Starbucks (with whipped cream on top, of course), I very clearly remember having something specific to write about. It was witty and insightful and was definitely something everyone would enjoy reading. However, interruptions to the train of thought do take their toll. It's hard to decide though whether I really would have given up my "interruptions" in favor of simply remember what it was I was going to write about.

After I had sucked dry the last delicious bits of my coffee confection, I headed to the library to take up my proverbial pen-in-keyboard-form to spell out my grand thoughts. As soon as I sat down, but before I could log into my computer, "Love Story" by Taylor Swift cut through the calm, library atmosphere announcing that my boyfriend was trying to get my attention. I, of course, answered immediately and, though I didn't realize it at the time, blew a farewell kiss to whatever great idea I had fabricated, for which the world so desperately needed my commentary on.

Here's the rub: I could lament the loss of my great idea, or I could lament the loss of time spent with the man I'm in love with. Arguably, good ideas may come only once. Then again, how often does true love come around? Well for me, I come home to true love every night, wake up to true love every morning, and frequently communicate with true love throughout the day. One might go so far as to say I am an addict. But is it really fruitful for us to weigh productiveness against happiness? I could have ignored true love's (quite literal) call and penned my semi-great work of art, or I could (and did) enjoy a brief respite from the toils of daily life by escaping briefly with true love. We didn't do much, in all honesty, walked around a bit, bought new computer parts since his died rather dramatically this morning, and generally just enjoyed one another's company.

So farewell to my captivating literary work, aborted before it could be born. Good ideas come and go, but time stands still for no man.