Writing About Nothing. That is to say, Avoiding The Subject At Hand. *This was written on a whim, and is dedicated to my friend Fatima, since it was her birthday on wednesday (on Pi Day and Einstein's birthday) Review, if you want :)*

I have the urge to write. What about is not yet certain. This is unfortunately the illness that has befallen writers everywhere and is called by an excruciatingly terrifying name: Writer's Block.

You see, writing is tedious. It takes energy, and I am the type of person that parts with my energy unwillingly. While others will run on a field and kick a ball, I prefer lying on my bed and dreaming. Not sleep, mind you. No, daytime sleeping unfortunately leads to insomnia (in my case, anyway). The dreaming I am talking abut is the day dream.

Such a strange idea. To look like you are here, while in actual fact you are deep within the recesses of your mind, slaying dragons, driving that new car, or whatever you find fantastic. I, to be perfectly honest, dream of flying. Of course, that is not all I dream about (if it were, I would be a very poor writer indeed), but I don't suppose you deserve to know (or are even interested in) all the deep, dark inner workings of my mind.

Alas, I digress. The energy it takes to produce an adequate piece of literature is, in my opinion, equal to that of the sun exploding. Notice that I used the word "adequate." Most written works are mediocre at best, this current essay being no exception. Therefore, I have not just exploded a sun somewhere, which is good for whichever little alien planet is orbiting that particular star.

Also, suns have a lot of energy; apparently the amount of one thousand nuclear reactions releasing energy every second. That's enough to: sizzle you, fry you, burn you, melt you, make you explode and implode simultaneously (I know) and to have you screaming like a banshee, all in the space of one second. Yes, dear reader, you will have but a second (not even a moment, which happens to be approximately 2,4 seconds), after which you would be dead; gone, nothing more than a speck of dust in the wind. I do not say this to frighten you, but simply because it is the simple truth. Take it as a warning: at every chance you get, avoid having tea (or whichever beverage takes your fancy) on the sun. You will not last long enough to sit.

Well, my dear reader, I am finally finished with my tirade about being unable to write anything and, what do you know? I actually managed to write something prudent. Yes, I think prudent is a good word to insert in that particular space. Prudent really is a terrible word, but that quite heated discussion is for another time. Until then, I bid you adieu, and I apologize for wasting your time.