It’s not you, it’s me
As evidenced by that atrocious comma splice right there. Well, writer’s block, it’s been fun. You’re something that has stuck by my side when all other life experiences are transient. You cling to my brain like that subdural hematoma that I actually don’t have. It would almost be nice if I did, since then I’d have an excuse for my brain functioning at such a sub-par level.
Writer’s block, I’ve wanted to shake you the way I shook Jordan. Whoops. I guess that was a little too straightforward.
Please don’t cry! I’m sorry. I’ll buy you flowers. Fuck, why are you such a sensitive little bitch? Justin Beiber probably cried less than you when he got in the head with a water bottle. No, writer’s block, I -don’t- think we need couple’s counseling, actually. Thank you very much.
Right. I was supposed to be pretending it was me, not you. Well, we all know how much people mean it when they say that anyway. After all this time together, I feel like we should at least be honest with each other. And if you’d like to complain about how rambly I am, just remember: it actually IS your fault. This drawn-out letter would have been so much shorter if you’d just left me be the first time I tried to break up with you!
Well, anyway. I’ve got some memories (I’d be lying if I said they’re fond), and I imagine you do too. If not, that’s okay. I don’t need you thinking about me once I’m gone anyway. It will just make you want to come back. Stay away, writer’s block, or I swear, this time I’ll actually get a restraining order. There are plenty other writers who need you more than I do. So get going! And don’t let the door hit you on the way out!
But, y’know, take care and all that.