I am suffering from a 3-year writer’s block. I wanted to tell about my day, about how my faux-professor soured it and that Julie has red hair, that the Fashion Design students always dress up, that my subconscious is swallowing the wrong information (stuff I stayed up nights studying) and spewing out things I'd rather not know, that the psychology survey kept accusing me of being an alcoholic in denial, that my psychology professor looked at me funny, that Alex said my college is fucked up and crooked and that it isn't art, but the frat house with Corinthian columns is. But, I'm sorry, I just can't tell you about that because I don't know how.