h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

It has happened again. My desease is back. Like some monster, I can almost feel it gently rest its head upon my shoulders, suddenly and irrivocably altering me. I tried to write an essay today, and I failed. I will fail tomorrow, and I will fail the next day. It is not so much that I have writer's block. No, that would be easily overcome. I simply have my desease. The desease which causes me to sit in front of a screen for three hours, with thousands of words written and erased, countless times. It is the defeaning combination of the complete inability to express anything that will actually matter to my living through next week, and the complete inability to even think up what I could write about to ensure my survival, could I write. Of course, it isn't everything. Oh no. That would be far, far, too easy. Instead, it only affects what matters. Am I denied the ability to write a pointless, stupid journal entry that noone save one or two browsers will ever chance upon? Oh no. I can write this with great ease, the words simply flowing onto the page. It is only when I try to write anything resembling a structured, formal essay conveying something significantly profound about Huck Finn that I freeze up. I know I'm over dramatizing, but I've been through it. 'Ok' the chance reader, should s/he exist, may say, 'ok, but it is only one essay on one day. it's not that bad.' Were only it so easy. I feel like I have fallen down some hole, and I am still falling, and to make it worse, I know I will continue falling because I've fallen down this hole before. Somehow, last time I fell down this hole I found my way out again. I don't know how, and so I really can't say if I'll ever be able to claw my way out of this one. I ache inside.