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I'm Desperate

By Frank Yin

1 hour and 30 minutes. That’s the amount of time I’ve been thinking. THINKING! Yet I have not thought of anything. My mind is like a piece of blank white paper and the pen has run out of ink.

The clock keeps turning but it seems like it goes faster and faster. Every tick makes my head pound harder. Every word is an hour.

The sun continues to rise and the Earth continues to spin. The wind blows on the peaceful trees like dancing arms. The kids outside laugh and play without a care of what they are doing. Everyday the same thing happens, however, I can not handle doing the same thing anymore. Every thought that comes to my mind is immediately shut down by cops of doubt. But once I finish my essay, I will finally be out of the eternal jail of frustration.

Why do I have to write so much? Why can’t I stop? People barely read through a whole article, so what is the point in elongating it? It is not like my writing will last 100 years later. Why should I spend all my time doing something I don’t want to do?

Writing is stupid. Now that we have technology, what is the point of writing? We can call each other and we can even see each other's faces through a screen! We can just record what we have to say with our smartphones. Many say that writing can express things that can’t be said, but I don’t have the time for that.

My headache is starting to fade now and I am sorry for those I have offended. But I will do anything to leave the eternal jail of frustration.

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