Blocked.

Day 3 of my new freedom and I'm suffering from writer's block in the worst kind of way. Let it be said that I've been exceptionally productive this week, as I have mountains to accomplish before I leave for Costa Rica on Sunday. Because seriously, how much will I really want to write about the Miss America protest of 1968 and its influence on female body image in second-wave feminism of the 1970s, when zip lining and waterfall repelling call my name?

Although I am going to Costa Rica for a grad school course, I don't really want to have to work that hard. Since I'll be missing two weeks of my Austin courses, I have a research paper draft to finish. Now. Just for fun, here's a list of everything I've done today besides write a single word relating to the Miss America protest of 1968 and its influence on female body image in second-wave feminism of the 1970s:

• took my dog for a brief stroll around 50th street and its environs
• went to the library and left with an armload of books (progress, however small)
• met up with J. at Bouldin Creek for coffee and hummus (100% unproductive)
• drove around trying to find parking for Briscoe Center of American History (at least I'm trying)
• wrote submissions for Eating Everywhere and Spectrum Culture (why can't academic writing be so easy?)
• took notes on armload of books (getting warmer)
• stared at blank computer screen for 89 minutes
• had leisurely cup of tea, while cursing blank computer screen (again, 100% unproductive)

So. That's that. Beyond frustrated. At this very moment, I pray that some lightning bolt of genius will strike.

Here's hoping.