Have you ever tried writing? Perhaps blogging? If so - you know the feeling I am experiencing at this current moment in time. The time is 2:43 AM Central Time… in case you were wondering. Don't ask me why I am up at this ungodly hour- that is itself another story to tell.

Well - as I was trying to say… you know what sucks? The thing that literally breaks the scale of suckish-ness for all of us writers?

Yup. You all know exactly what I am talking about, the accursed…

Writer's block.

We've all had it and we all have different ways of dealing with it. My way is rather… unhealthy. I mean, downing four-cups of some Starbucks off-brand coffee is not what I suggest as a remedy. I swear I get my caffeine addiction from my mother. That women sure knew how to down those cappuccinos! She used to have at least 3 per day- until the doctor told her it was ruining her health. I guess all those packets of make-it-yourself coffee had to be wasted somewhere. And so began my caffeine addiction.

I blame my mother.

Considering I can literally feel the caffeine rushing through my body and sending shivers down my spine, I think I went a little over-board. A little is an understatement- I feel like I want to sob, squeal, and laugh like a bloody maniac all at once. Why? I have no clue.

Perhaps these caffeine highs are getting out of control… perhaps not. I tend to think that I know everything that is going on in my body - that if I think something is bad for me I will stop. I don't think coffee is necessarily bad for me. I just think I shouldn't rely on it too much.

Ironically, as I typed that last paragraph I took two long sips of my French Vanilla coffee. It is kind of a great feeling - the warm and inviting scent of coffee in the hours at which you cannot tell early from late. It is an even better experience with a mixed play list of Don Henley, The Police, Journey, Matchbox Twenty, Enya, Dave Gahan, Meatloaf, Destiny's Child, Boston, The Essentials, and Queen serenading your ears.

Let us not forget that it is most pleasant to be rid of that caked-on chemical crap that we call makeup. (Notice my alliteration?) And even though you can see almost every black-head and zit on my pathetically adolescent face, I feel much better. I guess it helps that I don't plan on making an human contact for the next 10 hours or so… but that is beyond the point. My hair is pulled back into some sort of braid/bun with a scrunchy that I am pretty sure is my mother's from college. (AWKWARD!) My thick-framed glasses frame my- as I tend to describe it- pudgy face. And to top it all off - wearing my gray, flannel PJ bottoms that say "TOUCHDOWN" on the butt and my older brother's old American Eagle sweatshirt that hangs off of me… I feel completely and utterly like myself.

So, my lovely viewers- in a strange and completely confusing way I am asking you when or where you feel the most like you. Is it when you are… playing the cello? Perhaps, when you are wearing your father's baseball jersey and a pair of old sweatpants that make you look hideously frumpy yet you love them to death?

I don't care what your answer is - - TELL ME! (:

Today I will leave you with a short poem that I wrote about 10 seconds ago in my head.

ENJOY.

Sing with the turtles

Dance with the chairs

Perhaps this poem sucks

But I don't really care.

Love,

- M

Chubby fingers stop dancing across my colorfully-stickered keyboard and I tear my eyes away from my computer screen. For a moment my eyes are drawn to my colorful nails and I force down a smile at my sloppy work. Yep, I am a blogger. A pretty horrible and horrendously boring one at that… but I keep at it.

Swallowing a yawn, I skim over what I have just finished typing. It wasn't my best work, but it was good enough for me. I publish my latest post to my blog, before scrolling through my homepage- trying not to notice the lack of page views.

The clock on my bedside table says it is 3:17 AM and truthfully, I am starting to crash. My eye-lids are drooping and it is getting terribly hard to keep my mind focused. My coffee has grown cold and it tastes a little bitter against my parched throat. I'm not one for turning down coffee, but I just can't swallow another bit of this.

I turn away from my glass-desk in my spiny chair and grab my mug. Creeping downstairs is pretty much pointless since my mother sleeps like a deaf rock. I am pretty sure I could have a party and she would not notice.

Ok, that is exaggerating a lot, but she is a deep sleeper. My feet are walking on their own through my dark, two-story house. I've done this numerous times that I think I know my way around the house better at night then I do at day. It is because there are many nights where I cannot sleep. I have diagnosed myself with a slight case of insomnia… or messed-up teenage hormones.

I dump my beverage down the drain and open the fridge, grabbing one of the numerous water bottles inside. Other than milk, the only beverage we have in our fridge is water. Mom likes to "recycle" our water bottles by using the same ones over and over again (after a proper washing out!) I take a long swig before bringing it with me upstairs.

My legs are too short to take two at a time so I end up taking these awkward quick baby steps, and I must admit it is a rather funny sight. Scuffling along the hardwood floor and toward my bedroom I fling open the door before quietly shutting it and sprinting towards my bed. I hit the black and white guitar-patterned comforter and sigh almost immediately. I am already sinking into it and my mind is drifting to that place in between awake and dreaming.

Ha. The place between awake and dreaming? That reminds me of a Peter Pan quote that I have decoratively printed on a canvas on the other side of my room. Instinctively, I look to it. I don't have to read it- I already know what it says.

"You know that place? The place between awake and dreaming? That is the place where I will always love you. That is where I'll be waiting…"

Ok - don't judge me because I have a strange love for Disney classics and that I love strange yet awesome quotes… or the fact that I own at least 3 Disney sing-along CDs that I listen to on long car-rides. I am a child at heart!

My breathing is starting to slow down - even out- and I can barely keep my eyes open. Maybe it is the beginning chords of "Bright Lights" by Matchbox Twenty or the constant tick-tock of my clock that are serenading me to sleep, but all I know is that I am on the frayed edges of dream-land. Not yet there, but I'm on my way.

I'm on my way…