Its a rainy windy night, Im staring at my bright computer screen trying to start my essay that I procrastinated too long on.I read and reread the prompt over and over again while my finger glides over the mouse pad, reading every word. It feels like I read the prompt about fifty times, I look at the clock and its 6:47 and I start to feel a panic come along, Its getting late and I still haven’t started my essay. I stare at my hands and see them shaking, like a person with Parkinson’s disease. My bright computer screen beams at my shaking hands I and start to what I do best when it comes to starting a writing assignment, Daydream. 

My eyes lock onto my trembling hands but my mind wonders, I squint in confusion when I see my hands tremble harder, suddenly I feel a strong force in my hands as my fingers curl into the palm of my hands. The pain in extremely excruciating, my eyes are bulging at sight of what’s going on. What is going on?! My fingers stiffen into what looks like a deformed fist, the bones in my fingers feel like their throbbing. I quickly hunch over to take a closer look at my fists, I try to slowly spread my fingers open despite the sharp pains, but my hands still won’t open. I frantically pace back and forth in my room fighting back the urge to cry at my frustration. Suddenly I look across the room at my computer screen and see a group of middle aged people, standing together with blank stares on their faces. Each of them were my future college writing professors, They are who I aspire to please with my writing. They are the next step up from where I am now. I have these intrapersonal thoughts to myself  wondering “How will I live up to a good writer in the eyes of my future professors? What do I have to improve now, so I can do great in future courses? I will never be what they expect a good writer to be.” A ll these thoughts run through my mind as a watch the professors stare deep at me, it was almost as if they could already sense that I was a terrible writer.

I look down at my fists and begin to cry, I feel hopeless and all my frustrations start to build up. Then out of the blue I the voice of a girl, she calls out my name. I look up and blink away the tears that blurred my vision, I recognize this girl but I don’t quite know from where. She says “I’m Colleen, from Psychology 101” She’s one of the members in my discussion group, I’ve only written a few essays In our group but she has always been a good audience when it came to reading my writing. She always gave me feedback and left great comments that pushed me to want to submit my assignments. She starts to speak again, “I know that you are a great writer, you know how to express yourself in your writing and I know because I’ve seen it. Don’t let the thought of who you’re writing for but think what are you writing for.” She takes a look at my hands and says “Your hands are not really stuck. Simply close your eyes, focus on your breathing and release all the tenseness in your body by inhaling and exhaling. The image of your hands are just an act of your imagination. You can do this…” Her voice fades. My eyes are still closed, my breathing is now in control, all I have to do is open my eyes and release the grip on my hands. “1..2…3..” I opened my eyes and my see that my hands are actually flat down on the screen. This whole time I had been daydreaming and having these preconceptions of what my future professors would think of me. I took one last deep breathe and instantly started writing.