"you've got a deadline. you've got 22 minutes to compose something that anyone will care enough to even skim, 21 by the time you've finished scrawling the previous sentence. so what'll it be? staring at a blank slate isn't exactly the best muse, though it may be the brightest in an otherwise dark room. you frantically search your even darker mind, darkened by sleep and the efforts of the continued day and nothing will come to you, a feeling comparable to writers block but possibly even more frustrating. a total vaccum of ideas is worse than feeling a nebulous need to create only to not willfully eek a single thing out, or at least it sometimes seems that way. instead you impress upon the bright white slate darkened letters comprising what amounts to a giant heap of bullshit, so you scrap them and start over, slate seeming brighter than ever, burning your eyes but unfortunately not any ideas into the brain that you once thought to lie behind them. so now what? you've got 14 minutes left and it took your addled brain the better part of 45 seconds to figure the math out on that one. at this point you find yourself wondering weighing the pros and cons of submitting a giant pile of bullshit that is now steaming and beginning to gather flies, or simply aborting the process in it's entirety and retreating to sleep having realized how futile it is to attempt to construct something out of nothing. it's at this point you also realize you've failed to bother to use capital letters and punctuation has probably taken a backseat to timeliness. and don't even bother thinking about coherance or clarity, you should probably be lucky you have words on the page that you haven't the gall to scrap yet. i guess it's at this point you just press submit hoping the maggots that have now become present at least bloom into something more worthy than the heap they crawled out of."