Writing Metaphor, Part II

Ok, I am not trying to be some kind of suck up or goody two shoes or what have you by posting two assignments; I realize that I have already posted the writing metaphor assignment, but as I was driving over to swim at Notre Dame this afternoon, inspiration STRUCK (thank God it was inspiration that struck me and not my jalopy of a car striking some innocent bystander as I was failing to pay much attention to what I was doing, so overcome was I with this amazing idea for my HUST blog post). Who am I to deny inspiration an outlet through which it may share itself with the rest of the world? Given the nature of my epiphany, I feel justified in claiming that I am merely acting as a mediator here, a link between that brilliant thought that STRUCK me this afternoon and all of you lovely blog-readers.

Before I share with you that STRIKING thought, I feel maternally inclined to protect my car's pride (and, by extension, my own) from any mockery that may result from this post. I'm sure that several of you have seen it around campus...it's the rust-encroached '85 Buick with a handwritten sign christening it "The Cowmobile" visible from the back windshield. I know it's a piece of crap, but it's my piece of crap, so please refrain from posting any scathing remarks regarding its appearance.

Anyway, by now you are probably wondering if I truly was STRUCK by inspiration or simply
desired a place in which I could ramble aimlessly for hours on end as a means of entertaining myself. I assure you, we will get to the STRIKING part shortly; but first, some brief exposition...

As we all very well know, walking around campus last week was basically the equivalent of trekking through an arctic tundra (all to experience the joys of learning, what dedicated scholars we are!). Not only did this frigid weather affect our health (I am still coughing up massive amounts of mucous), but it took quite a toll on a lot of students' vehicles as well. Now, the Cowmobile is quite aged, and I have the occasional problem getting it to run when it's not -3150 degrees out (an exaggeration? Ok, perhaps, but it was pretty freaking cold), so you have to realize that trying to get my baby running last week was quite an undertaking. It didn't help matters that I have a tendency to get very cranky when I'm cold, or that I had forgotten my snow brush at home and thus had to use my jacketed arm (which I am just now recovering the functionality of...ok, perhaps another slight embellishment) to scrape off the foot of snow that had accumulated on top of my car. By the time I got inside the dang thing, I was very cold, very wet, and very unhappy.

Things got progressively worse (as they often seem to do in these situations) when I realized that I had set my keys on the hood of my car while brushing the snow off of it. This does not seem like a big deal, I know: Why couldn't I just open my car door, grab the keys, and start the engine? I'll tell you why--because God hates me. Well, actually, it's because I'm a moron and, by prying open the frozen door earlier, I had somehow managed to break the door handle in such a way that prevented it from being able to function from the inside. Thus, I had to roll down my window (old-school style--by cranking a handle), subject my already freezing arm to the elements, and open my door from the outside. I then proceeded to grab my keys and attempt (note my word choice there) to start my car.

I could ramble on for a few more paragraphs about my multiple futile attempts to get the thing running, but I'm sure you're all bored with my incessant complaining by now. The bottom line is this: With persistence and a willingness to try different methods when the previous ones didn't work (and, ok, quite a few swear words), I finally managed to get my car running and, subsequently, made it to my desired destination (Starbucks, for some much needed caffeine).

Moral of my story? Writing, for me, is very similar to what happened with my car. Sometimes I get stuck, and it seems like everything is working against me. Sometimes I know exactly where I want to go and just can't seem to get there. But if I force myself to just grit my teeth, work through the issues, and look at things from different angles (and, ok, yes, again, perhaps utter a few swear words), I can usually get things running smoothly. It always pays off in the end.

That, my friends, is what STRUCK me today. Just thought I'd share. :-)