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Creative Writing : CouldnT Stop Writing

Decent Essays
Couldn’t Stop Writing I turned the page over and over again, but still, I couldn’t figure it out. My stomach growls as I’m struggling for my art. Each page is more difficult to understand then the last, and stumbles all around my head, pounding brutally; there’s nothing there. Blank as the white, crumpled piece of paper I thrusted across the floor in frustration, my mind wondered why there was nothing on the paper. “Harold always knows what to do, never, would he ever dream of discontinuing his gift for a trashy opportunity! His judgment is clouded and impaired because of his illness.” I said reluctantly. “Being a workaholic is not an illness Mary, it’s special,” said Carlen, “I would idolize having that superpower.” Carlen swats her bangs to the side and sighs while she jogs around the house, carrying a spray bottle in one hand and dirty paper towels in the other. “This is not the life I wanted, being a stay-at-home mom while my husband gets to move freely and get a break from the kids. Marcus has a job he gets to drive to, sits at a desk working 345 days a year including weekends, people he eats lunch with and who knows what else?!” Carlen marches into the bedroom, drops her stuff and skyrocketed onto her bed unaware that she spilled her coffee cup onto her favorite rug. “Yea they are totally living the dream, working nine to ten hours a day, maybe more and sitting down for seven of it.” I said sarcastically as I set the cup on the nightstand beside her bed and
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