By: Alice Su

Times New Roman font? Check. Font size 9? Check. Bolded? Check. All that was left to do was… write. But write what? Alice looked at the topics again. There was a Studio Ghibli prompt that was much too long for her liking, a random article about fashion, something about abortion rights and comedy, an article on some antisemitic art exhibition, and…the list went on –- many of them taking far too much effort to get through. Alice stared at the blank page. The blank page seemed to stare back.

But it was only 5:11. She would have plenty of time to start her article later. With that in mind, Alice clicked out of the tab and started watching Youtube.. Time passed. Lots of time.

It was now 10:02, and Alice was still staring at her blank page. Her blinking cursor taunted her, as did her Youtube tab. But Alice knew she had to submit an article today, even if it barely made sense.

“Hey Siri, pick a number between one and seven.”

“A random number between one and seven is two,” replied Siri. It seemed Alice would be writing about some fairytale fashion…

At 11:01, Alice was done. She scarcely knew what she’d just written, but she did know that it passed the word count.

It is now Monday, 6:31 PM. Alice, again, has no idea what to write. For the past couple of weeks, she has just written poetry, as it took only thirty minutes, and she didn’t have to worry about concision and whatnot when writing. But even with all its benefits, writing just poetry had gotten… a little bit boring. So, Alice decides she must write a personal narrative. Yet Alice’s life is as boring as that one art exhibition article, which made writing personal narratives quite the struggle. Knowing that no matter how hard she brainstormed ideas, she would get nowhere, Alice just began to type. As her keyboard clicks and clacks, she realizes that her story is basically a huge rant about procrastination. Alice checks the word count. 347.

Technically, it is enough. But for some reason, Alice wants it to be 400 or more. She looks at her nails, which were way too short to be dirty but somehow still are. Thinking for a second, she realizes she is writing a story about procrastination as she is procrastinating. Alice checks the word count again. 410. She can submit it now. But that would be a terrible way to end her story. Secretly, Alice pities the reader who is currently wasting their time reading this. She hopes their lives, unlike hers, are at least more interesting than that article about the exhibition.