Writer's Cramp

There is nothing more frustrating than lacking inspiration for pent up creative genius. History and English papers have reduced my writing abilities to faltering metaphors like: "the room was as dark as America during Jacksonian nationalism" and "his words made as little sense as Bacon's obsession with chickens."

So much for my plans of being a starving, talented artist on the streets of Portland. Thank you, fate, for foiling my elaborate plans once again.