Sometimes I stare at a blank screen with a white reflection on my glasses lenses. What do I write about? What topic isn't boring? I tap my keys with my fingernails. Bored. Tired. Unenthusiastic.

Sometimes it's totally acceptable to write about your life. Reflect on your actions, share your mistakes with the social media world around you. As you type about your initial experiences, you gleefully watch the word count slowly, but surely increase. But then you stop.

You always write about your experiences. You always reflect on your actions. You always inform your Facebook friends about the specific details from your high school that you really miss. So what do you do? You delete all 330 words of your article and start off with a blank slate. Your face mirrors the blank screen in front of you, and you decide to try something completely different.

The Surrealists believed that automatic writing produced the greatest works-- works where the subconscious would outshine the conscious-- where one's true self would appear. So you take a deep breath, crack a few knuckles and start again, emptying your thoughts onto a digital screen.

Your first draft was a painful 330 words. But now, you've hardly started, but you are at 250 words already. Your fingers move faster across the keyboard and you can't help but make a mental note to test your typing speed when you get the chance. Words words words. You're not totally sure that what you're writing is making any sense, but you decide to worry about that later after you hit the word count goal.

Inane words flow out of your fingertips-- I mean, you're writing about having Writer's Block... Oh the irony.. You smirk at yourself as you glance at your sleeping roommate. She's fast asleep; you can tell by her light snores and how she doesn't twitch in response to your furious typing.

This is a rather odd type of automatic writing. Not everything (besides the actual topic) is nonsensical nor are you pouring out your true soul onto a digital canvas. You have just been stuck for weeks with fears of seeming redundant, that with all hope gone, you choose to attempt something new. Your condition still prevails, as there are times where you stop and stare at your screen. Your typing comes in fits and bursts, but you eye your finish line-- almost at the article quota. The word quota then triggers you, bringing you back to your Intro to Macroeconomics midterm. Did you prepare well? Did you perform above the mean? Your incessant worrying diverts you from your main focus and you take another break.

Finally, you readjust your position in bed and write out the final paragraph. You have piled your cough drop wrappers neatly (no, not even you could escape the sickness). You're still unsure, but you believe that you have been somewhat alleviated from your writer's block.

It's been a long weekend, and you realize that in no time at all, you are now halfway through your first quarter at college. You take a deep breath and can't help but smile. Somehow, after weeks of attempts, you just gave up and went along with your cringe-worthy alternative plan. You succeeded by writing about your writer's block. Let's just hope the editor's okay with your writing this time.