The Paper and the Pen

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

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No matter how much I write, I just can't seem to get it right. This is really starting to get frustrating. I wonder if there's something wrong with me? I mean, it shouldn't be this hard to do something as simple as writing, right?

You just put the pen to the paper, make a few lines, and presto! Mission complete.

So, is there something wrong with me for being unable to do it? I keep writing nothing, and when the pen finally begins to move, it only does so in order to tell me of my utter incompetence as a writer of any kind.

There has been numerous such instances already. The result is an ever increasing pile of crumbled papers slowly overflowing my desk, and spreading to the floor, where it makes walking almost impossible.

I'm not very good at writing – I clearly shouldn't consider making a career out of this, it'd just be too laughable – but I must write right now, so I've got no choice but to continue despite all of these endless failures. It's kind of depressing actually.

I crumble another paper. It'd be nice if I had a computer, that way I wouldn't have to waste so much paper, save the forests and all of that. Well, I guess I don't care very much about the forests right now, but this is going to be a pain in the ass to clean up.

I wonder if I could use time travel in order to go look on whatever it is that I'll end up with writing. At least that way, even if it ends up being terrible, I don't have to worry about the whole writing part. There are worse things to come after this, I'm sure of it.

Damn this is so infuriating! Why the hell do I've got to write? What am I supposed to write? Do I even know what it is that I want to tell?

Actually, that might be a good place to start.

I start scribbling on exactly what it is that I want to tell, only to find that I'm somewhat conflicted by this as well.

This is really going nowhere fast.

I smack my head against the desk, hoping that it might trigger some sort of chain reaction and kick start my thought process. It didn't. And now my head hurts, and I still haven't got a clue as to what to write.

I'm starting to dislike my brain actually. That's probably not a good sign. Don't know what it might mean though, I've never been a very studious kind of guy.

I crumble some more paper, tossing it somewhere over my shoulder. I hope I can somehow get away without cleaning this mess up afterwards. I seriously doubt that I'll be very successful though.

Looking out the window at the dark streets outside isn't really brightening my mood, but it's a distraction of some sort, and that's something that I seem to be in dire need of right now.

There are dark clouds slowly drifting by, gray to the infinite blackness that is the sky. It must be nice to be a cloud, just simply floating by, never having to write anything at all. Although, granted, being a cloud would probably get very boring in the long run.

I guess I'm satisfied with what I have right now, but why do I have to write this? Why can't somebody else do it?

Okay, stupid question.

Still doesn't mean that it isn't frustrating though.

Maybe I should try to sleep. I mean, it's not like I'm getting anywhere right now, might as well take back some well deserved sleeping time, right? I'll probably be able to write something in the morning.

Making excuses and lying to myself. This is what writing has reduced me to. Please get me a restraining order for writing or something.

No, wait, don't. Bypassing the obvious, I'd be forced to write the restraining order as well, wouldn't I? Damn it. There's really no getting away from writing in this frustratingly normal society, is there?

But, I still don't know what to write, there is an unrelenting pull tugging at my eyelids, causing me to lose whatever focus I have left, and my head still hurts.

I really want to blame something for putting me in this situation, but I can't seem to really think of what, or who, it is that I should blame. I kind of get the feeling that I usually ignore everything else and just blame someone for whatever unfortunate events transpire around me, but I can't seem to recall whom that might be.

Maybe I really should go to sleep, this is getting me nowhere fast, and I think I'm starting to go insane from lack of sleep. The bed really does look very, very appealing right now. Beckoning me with that wonderful softness that only beds – and possibly clouds – could ever hope to posses.

I finally surrender to all of it and crawl into the bed, I'd already prepared for bed earlier, before I began the fight with the pen and paper that ultimately led to my ungraceful defeat.

I'll do it tomorrow. It's not like it's going to be that big of a deal.

Right?

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Okay, maybe going to sleep at that time might not have been my best idea as of late, but at least I'm not extremely tired today, that's got to count for something.

"Penalty!"

I guess not. Really, how could I possibly forget whom it is that I usually blame for any of the unfortunate events that usually happens to me? I mean, who else could it be but our very own, eccentric goddess?

And this time, I'm almost completely sure that I'm correct.

Don't look at me like that Koizumi, you know as well as I do that that time was an honest mistake, anyone would have blamed her for that. How couldn't you? I mean, she's done virtually the same thing, numerous times in the past, and she hasn't shown any signs of wanting to repent for doing them. Clearly she was the prime suspect – the fact that she was innocent that time was a mere coincidence.

So, without any of the guilty conscience – that Koizumi seems to be expecting – I can say quite clearly that I blame Haruhi for this.

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A/n: "There's no poetry between us, said the paper to the pen." Okay, I'm usually inspired by music, but this is just ridiculous. Hoped you enjoyed reading this.