Sometimes I wish I could find all of the poems and stories I wrote in college. I vaguely remember them, my memory being worlds away from photographic, but there were a couple I recall fairly well. I ran across two of them in a file card box I was sorting this morning. I remember the girl that wrote them, but I don’t know her anymore.
There was a writing assignment in college, due on a Monday, of course. Sunday afternoon I spent several blank hours trying to come up with the required poem and depth of thought, and the only thing that materialized was a lamentation on writers block and how it made me feel. It was what I was living at the time, so was a rather immediate and heartfelt offering, meeting at least those two requirements of the assignment. I just can’t bring myself to embarrass that college student that was me, so I won’t post the poems I found. Perhaps my creative writing professor appreciated my ode to writer’s block all the more for it having been preceded by stuff like that.
Today I’m feeling a little like that Sunday afternoon girl of so long ago, though posting in this blog is a self-imposed assignment. That’s one of the changes that occur as you grow up – you make your own goals and targets. Does that make it easier to miss them or more difficult?