Everyone needs one. Best gay friend. I usually call my best gay friends “Will”. I’ve been with out a Will for many months. Wills are great to have. They tell you when your breath stinks, when your outfit sucks, and, most importantly, that you’re still okay despite these excruciating flaws. Marcus is my Will. And today he asked me to sit next to him in class.

Marcus has this ability to do 50 things at the same time, and keep track of every one of them while making sarcastic remarks. He is raw – like wide open raw. He doesn’t care what other people think and will read this amazing rant about his latest break up – and will never apologize or shy away from the mention of his partner, gay sex, or the obvious passion the two of them shared, and I loved him for it. Just like that. I decided. He was this year’s Will. I only say this year because next year Marcus will probably not even be around anymore. He’ll have moved on, because he does that. He will pack up and move to some city and take on some job he probably can’t stand, and he’ll write some awesome shit. He’ll probably find a new lover to share his passions with and he’ll take in everything, like only he can, while reading a book, tapping out a rhythm with his foot, and slamming someone with just the right amount of classiness that makes the very person you’re teasing laugh at the sheer brilliance of your wit. And whoever happens to be that year’s Grace …well, enjoy the seat. You’re the lucky one.

I feel like I should be on a ship or something – commenting about the crew and the weather and potential issues with icebergs. What I meant to imply by the title, however, was that I’m experiencing something greater than a block and more the size of a large log. That weak attempt at a description can only make for a more convincing illustration of my problem. I simply can not write. All weekend long I couldn’t write. I worked a hell of a lot. I talked to most of you and did a pretty decent job. But writing? Didn’t write a lick. And I blame my teacher for it.

S.N. has heard all about this already and has given me some stellar advice. Which I might take eventually. Especially since my way of dealing with it went so well (end sarcasm). Basically what happened is that my Professor told me that I was brilliant and that a piece of my writing was the best piece of writing she had read in the 10 years of teaching. And then she said a whole bunch of other stuff – basically about my talent and that she hoped I was planning on being a poet/writer and blah blah blah. And then she assigned a poem. And it’s due on Thursday. And I haven’t written anything. Because I suck. Everything I write is coming out like the biggest lump of trite, sappy, cliche bullshit ever written. She said she’d take a look at whatever I had written today and yeah – I don’t have anything to show her. And what I could show her would really make me die of embarrassment. And instead of writing my way out of this block I just keep pissing and moaning about being called brilliant. Which is really all I ever wanted. Imagine wanting to do something so bad and only needing a word from someone whose opinion you value (is that who’s or whose? I fricken can never remember that rule for some reason. I think it’s whose, right? Cuz it’s not who is opinion – it’s whose….let me dictionary.com it.. yep – WHOSE). So you finally get that “yup – this is what you should do” word from a person who knows what the fuck she’s talking about … you – or I – should be relieved, right? Which basically brings me to the conclusion I’ve known for a long time: you really can’t satisfy me. I am unsatisfiable. insatiable. hard to please.

Ok – enough of that.

I’ll get over it. Pressure has always made me shine like a diamond – UGH – enough of the horrible cliched madness, CeCe!

In other news – I approached a guy in my writing class and practically begged him to let me be in his group. He told me that I was at the top of his list. That makes me happy because no one wants to throw themselves on someone who doesn’t want to be bothered and also – so incredibly happy that I’m on the top of someone’s list, too. Shit – I must have blown away some people during our first reading, huh? Sure wish I knew what the hell I wrote that was so impressive…

I actually have a funny story about every class I’m taking. But I have to save something for another day. Let me just say for now that my Poetry class is seriously hilarious to me. There is one girl in my class that will make her way into my novel as the obnoxious typical poet/writer wanna be girl. I just want to be careful because she just might surprise us all with an awesome poem on Thursday while my muddled mess will sound something like a beat up recycled Anne Sexton poem that will make everyone else want to slit their wrists.

More Later.

P.S. Sending out the minutes for missed calls this past week (or two) now. Also for feedback and generally putting up with my whining ass.