I think what I really want to do right now is take a creative writing class. There’s nothing else I want to do except take this class. Sadly, my school doesn’t offer creative writing classes. Well, if they do, it’s probably only for English majors/minors and/or writing minors. Sigh. This lack of motivation is killing me slowly. I look at my red moleskin, empty because I have nothing to write about. This isn’t even writers block. At this point, I’m desperate for an idea just so I can have writers block. At least I’ll have an idea and I’ll start writing. But this ? This is far more worse than writers block. The itch, desire, craving to write fiction is getting at me. I feel as though I’m walking through life like a zombie. I’m zoning out frequently. I’m day dreaming constantly, trying to spark an idea from my imagination. I’m not even focusing on life right now. All I want to do is achieve an idea, lock myself away in a room and write. I want my words to reflect my thoughts and emotions. This pent up frustration is eating at me and I don’t know how long I can keep up this facade of “everything is fine. It’ll come to you soon.”