Schriften.

"In the corner of my study there is a desk, piled high with the debris of a hectic life. Gas bills and bank statements and half-written letters litter the grainy oaken surface like a carpet of papery snow, criss-crossed every now and then with the tracks of coffee rings and correction fluid. Company invoices and uninspired articles in various forms of redraft, tower precariously at intermittent points across the chaos, spilling from their envelopes and plastic binders like gutted entrails and threatening to topple at the slightest of persuasions. The long-dry husks of biros protrude from packets and cases like upright branches in an otherwise desecrated forest, while their ink-infested siblings hide mischievously among the paper chase, eluding the searching hand in its time of need. The computer monitor in the centre is always on, always glowing; the room forever filled with the sounds of frantic typing as words escape the flurried fingers, or with the muted concertos of Handel and the Oriental twang of Majhong. This unashamed confusion implies the commonplace, the everyday. The incriminating evidence of a blissful normality."

Yesterday my creative writing class were supposed to review the piece that began like this. Instead, a second snow day confined me to my room and I am left another week, wondering what they thought.
Writing is a strange business. It has always come naturally to me, but now that it is my job to write I find myself grasping at nothing, or worse, pandering to the simple and the obvious, or the expectations of others. In September I bought a thick writing journal from Paperchase. The other day I ripped three pages of writing from its centre. The only three pages. I feel the same way about these mundane postings of mine. Not one of them, I think it's safe to say, remains the same as the day it was written. Everything must be just so, but I don't know what just so might be.

There are people skateboarding in the hallway and I cannot get my head around my Approaches essay. So I just thought I'd let you know. Sorry to be repetitive.