Not the creative part, though. I hated the physical, pencil-on-paper act of taking what was in my mind and organizing it and trying to cull the barrage of ideas I had. I always had more going on upstairs than I could physically write down, and so I found it incredibly frustrating. That was probably a large reason why my papers were always marked down for handwriting: I was too busy trying to write down everything in my head as fast as I could that I didn't care about making my letters pretty.
But I feel like as I've gotten older, I've slowed down. I don't have a thousand ideas bouncing around my head all the time. Part of that is a good thing, in that now I can concentrate on writing papers about psychology without being distracted by a developing story about a girl that goes back to the time of the dinosaurs and fights Darth Vader (I was a weird little kid; I'm pretty sure I actually wrote this story at one point). But I really feel silly for never having things to write about.
I know that it's summer, and at this point I'm just kind of going through the motions, waiting for classes to start. Get up, go to work, hang out with people, come home, go to bed. I have no crazy professors to talk about or papers to complain about or weird classmates to psychoanalyze from afar. But I used to be so creative all the time, with daydreams of unicorns and the beaches of Normandy and a hybrid potato/corn plant (like I said, I was a weird little kid). I think with all the analytical thinking I've been doing the past few years, and the increase in the scientific, logical reading I've had to do for classes, I've started to infringe on the part of my brain that holds the creativity.
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