Mia: Shaken Not Stirred

The true life stories of a NYC female.

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

Last Week of School and Writer's Block

It was the last week of school and frankly my fellow students were starting to scare the crap out of me. They were walking around looking like refugees from Night of the Living Dead and I was nursing a killer case of writer’s block.

Monday, May 12th: The professor is reviewing for next week’s final. Students are bitching. The professor is pissed. “Do you give all of your professors such a hard time or is it just me?” he asks. Bunch of whiners they wouldn’t have lasted a semester in CUNY. I’m typing away on my laptop making notes on what I’ll need to include in my study guide. A lot of people are depending on my notes.


Either a snake’s gotten loose in the classroom or somebody’s springing a leak.

“psssst negra….pssst negrita…mi negra”

Oh snap the snake speaks Spanish!

“pssssssssssst….psssssssssssssst…oye mi negra.”

I feel a rush of warm breath on the back of my neck and fingers tapping on my shoulder.

Holy Monkey!

“You think you can hook me up with your study guide?”

Why is he whispering? It’s a study guide…not crack.

“Sure no problem.”
“I’ll pay you for it.”
“Na it’s okay.”
“Gracias mami.”
“Don’t call me mami.”
"Try Mia."

Tuesday, May 13th : No school today I decided to stay in and wrap up the research for my last paper. Unfortunately it seems the entire student body knows I am home for the day. My phone is ringing constantly. There is always that one person a little more desperate than the others…

“Mia I’ll pay you to write my term paper for me.”
“I’ll give you a hundred dollars.”
“No. I still haven’t started mine.”
“Mia, are you serious?”
“I’ve got writer’s block.”
“Shit that sucks…one fifty?”
“No, but I’ll go over it with you once you’re done.”
“Fine, two hundred?”

The next few days are spent studying and taking finals. I don’t even look at my research material. The truth is I didn’t have it in me to write.

Friday, May 16th : I look at the flashing cursor in my Microsoft word and it seems to be mocking me, taunting me, daring me to have the cojones to come up with an opening sentence. I look at my notes I’ve got several weeks worth of research and can’t think of a damn thing to write. It’s Friday, the paper is due on Monday. The paper on women as subordinates in society has take on an identity of its own, it has decided it wants to be a killer and wants me to be its’ first victim.

How the hell did I get stuck with this subject? Monica got Chinese immigrants…what have I ever done to this professor to merit this? I thought he liked me…he complimented me on my writing. He always looked forward to my essays and papers enjoyed them immensely the bastard had said. Why, por que, did he give me this subject?

My brain has gone on vacation. I hope it at least brings me back a t-shirt.

Saturday, May 17th : Nada, nothing, zip I can’t think of a damn thing to write. I was thisclose to pounding my head against the keyboard when out of no where an idea hits me. WTF is in this coffee? All of a sudden my brain kicks starts. Women. Women as subordinates within different religions around the world! Yeahhh boy! I know some women! I know women from all over the world! I know women in diverse fields! I know women from different religions! I quickly come up with a questionnaire and log onto my instant messenger and send out an SOS to my foreign crew. Almost instantly they start replying, they're are all happy to help. God bless the interweb!

I can hear my dad singing in the kitchen he arrived from his week long Florida trip early in the morning. He’s happy to be home, and slaughtering Duffy’s “Mercy” as he preps dinner. I love the man but damn he's tone deaf.

My mother enters my room; she puts her hand on my keyboard.
“Enough,” she says
“Enough studying, you’ve been stuck in this house for two months now.”
“But ma…”
“But nothing Mia,take a shower, get dressed,and pick up your boyfriend from work. It’s a beautiful day. Go have some fun and for God's sake do something with your hair.”

I attempt to run my hand through my wild mane of curls. It ain't happening. I could safely hide a pygmy in the nest I'm calling my hair these days.

“But ma I haven’t even started on my paper and it’s due on Monday!”
“You need to step away from it kiddo take a break. You can work on it tomorrow.”

She looked at me with a mischievous smile on her face.

“You know what you need?”
“A new brain and a bottle of industrial strength detangler?”
“No, you need to get laid.”
“What? Sex releases endorphins!
“Mother, I am so not having this conversation with you.”
"Why not?”
I put my head down on my desk and cover my face. I could feel myself blushing. She reached out and rubbed my back.

“Yeah that’s what you need bang, bang, bang, and everybody’s happy! Endorphins are released and creativity will once again reign supreme!”

I groaned and looked at her from behind my splayed fingers...
Who is this woman and how did I end up with her?

“Ma, stop. Please.”
Oh god she was looking at me again with that smile on her face...

“I’m serious nena . Your dad was gone for a whole week and not once was I inspired to work on a sketch. He got home this morning and uhhh …well want to see the sketch I’m working on? ” I shake my head.
“Please mother no mas. You’re too much woman.”
“Yeah I know your dad said the same thing to me this morning.”

I held up my hand in surrender.
“You win woman I’m leaving. I am leaving. Maybe I’ll get inspired while I’m out. ”
“Maybe get laid too.”

An hour later as I'm about to leave I am given instructions not to come back home until I have had at least a few drinks and have stolen some fruit.

"Release some of the tension!" Ma tells me "Seriously have some fun. All of this shit will still be here in the morning but your head will be clearer."

“You need some money little one?” My dad asks reaching for his wallet.
“Na I’m good pa. Thank you.”

I smile as I see my dad guiding mom towards their bedroom.
“Woman, I missed you so much.” He says just before the door closes and I hear my mom laughing. I shake my head as I stare at the closed door.

“God I hope those two are practicing safe sex.” I mutter as I head out.

Sunday, May 18th : 8:00 am once again the cursor is mocking me. I slam a couple of aspirin down my throat and take a sip of coffee.

Oy vey my head. Wtf was in those drinks? Note to self stay away from the fruity umbrella drinks they sneak up on you.

I turn off my phone, throw on my headphones. I check my e-mail, Holy Monkey! I’ve got around 20 questionnaires all filled out! Yeah for the sisterhood! For the rest of the day my computer and I are as one. My ass print will be forever a part of my computer chair’s fabric pattern.

Monday, May 19th : 2:00 fucking crusty am…I’m wide awake thanks to the cup of coffee my dad slid my way around 11 pm and I can’t think of a closing for the paper which is due today at 5pm with final to follow. Papa Dios help a sister out here all I need is a paragraph, eight to ten sentences that’s all I need.

I raise my fingers in the space over my keyboard and close my eyes and begin typing furiously Prepare for genius! I slowly open an eye hoping for a mirace...

”@##$$^^%!!!” that’s all that comes out, symbols nothing but symbols.

Staring at my monitor resting my chin on my hands I begin to berate myself.

Why didn’t I just stop at my pysch degree? Why the hell am I putting myself in debt to get another degree? Oh yeah because I can’t do crap with my BA well at least not what I want to do. I do the mental tally in my head. God more student loans next year and then grad school. At this rate my loans will be paid off when my kids start college. "Kids? You’re having kids? Ha! And when do you see yourself making time to have these kids?" The voices in my head aka The Supremes ask. Oh great NOW you decide to speak up …where the hell were you when I couldn’t compose a sentence? "Shut up and get back to work!" they reply.

Thirty minutes later the paper is done. As the printer does its business I slip on my head phones and begin dancing around my desk waving an imaginary bra over my head. I gyrate my body to the beat and sing along to the pulsating sounds of Fulanito.

I feel free.


Posted by @ 11:35 PM
4 comment from: Anonymous Steph, Anonymous Anonymous, Anonymous darla, Blogger Mia,