At my college, I was recently hired as a night host in my residence hall. It’s a decent job-you literally get paid $8 an hour to sit around, have people sign pieces of paper and do your homework. It’s not too demanding. At all.
The thing here is, on weekends, night hosts work from 11:45 at night until 4:45 the next morning (which is why this is being posted at such an odd hour). We can’t get up and walk around unless it’s 4 feet to the bathroom or taking our hourly rounds of the building, in which one of the two hosts must stay behind to watch the doors. Back to the timing of the job, though (my apologies-writing this at 3:30 in the morning is not as easy or fluid as I thought it might be).
I figured that since my homework is done, I would bring down my writing things (notebook, laptop, pens, pencils…) and write some pieces or work on ones I already have in progress or something. I have no idea. Just to write and stay moving and awake. That’s all I wanted. I want to just write and enjoy myself and what happens? Writer’s block strikes. My dear friend, how I’ve missed you!
*That line was sarcasm. I promise.*
So now, here I am, 3:33 in the morning, sitting in a college lounge chair with a little bag of potato chips and a craving for one more cup of coffee (to add to the 3 I’ve had all day), and I can’t even think of a story to tell or a song to write or a poem to construct. Nothing is coming to me at this point, and I’ve still got about another hour.
Lesson learned: don’t bother writing at 3 in the morning unless there’s something really weighing heavy on your mind that you know for a fact you can write about. Especially if you’re me.