The worst assignments I ever received in high school and college were the broad topic writing assignments.

“Just write about anything,” they said.

“It will be fun,” they cruelly mocked.

“Explore your interests,” they taunted.

“I don’t want to limit you,” they said with malice in their tongue.

Whenever I heard these words, all I could think was,

“Nooooo!”

“Put me in a box.”

“Force me to write about something I don’t want to write about.”

“Tell me I will never be able to understand the topic.”

Literally (and I MEAN that in the most literal sense of the word), I cannot bear being told to “just write about anything.”

Now, I know what you are thinking. Well, right now you are just writing about writing. How boring is that?

You know the phrase, “If you want something done, ask a busy person.”? Well, you want an unpleasant topic explored, ask a writer.

I think this malady of writer’s block is talked about best by one of my favorite web comics The Oatmeal. This makes me happy that there are others out there who can’t stand “generic assignments.” It truly is a First World Problem, but if this is the worst thing that happens to me in my life, then I am lucky. Or…unlucky, because bad experiences produce good writing. Goddamnit, I can’t win at this.

But I can’t write lately. I could blame the weather. I could blame politicians that made me jaded. I could blame work for making me use 90% of my brain for most of my waking hours. I could even blame the fact that at this moment, I am the happiest and most content I have ever been. But these are lame excuses. I was given an amazing gift last Christmas: a piece of internet real estate. I now own my moniker “Lower It Up.” But I realize I have been wasting it. I have power. I am “Google-searchable” now. I can make an impression, a digital imprint. And if only a handful of people read what I’ve written, that’s still a handful of people who experienced my original thoughts.

Now I could make the excuse that I am still writing because I write on Twitter, Facebook, Tongal, Instagram, emails, graffiti, etc. But these aren’t substantial enough to be considered writing, because anyone can do this. Seriously, anyone with thumbs can do this. Actually, I’ve seen enough cats on the internet to expect that they are also able to contribute to the cacophony of social networks.

However, sometimes I think of something so clever that if I don’t write it down, I’m afraid no one will ever think of this thought again. I don’t know if that’s a real phobia, but if it is, I hope the side effect of the prescribed pill is “more cleverness” and “dizziness upon standing.” My drafts are filled with half-drunk, half-asleep, half-Spanglish thoughts. I think in the language of puns and wordplay. I add sarcasm where it shouldn’t be and become as introspective as a Denver doobie brother when it is inappropriate. I don’t hear voices in my head, I see garbled sentences that need to be structured. So why can’t I put fingers to keys as frequently as I used to? 

Hey wait…I just wrote something. Don’t call it a comeback. I should keep doing this. 

Welp Internet, I came here to write and make excuses. And I’m all out of excuses.