Model of CreativityYou sit down at your computer and open up notepad. You type your name, hit enter, and then stare at the screen for five minutes. What the fuck? This sucks. Okay, stay calm, you can do this. Chill, just chill. You open up iTunes and put on the playlist from your last party to get you focused. That's better. With Ludacris blasting in the back, your mind narrows and you type the first sentence, then the second, then a third. You figure that you should use some punctuation, so you throw in your first period at the end of the line and then sprinkle some commas and that one that looks like a comma and a period getting it on. Hell yeah. Even punctuation wants to have some fun. Not Mr. Wilson though, the asshole.
You have seventeen minutes of uninterrupted flow. You've heard Dave Mathews talk about this kind of focus, but you never thought you'd experience it yourself. Amazed and proud, you reward yourself with a Natty Light. "Victory," you say, looking at the page of text you have written. Wait, wait, wait. You have three more of these to do? Hell no. Impossible. No way. No way.
One roommate's art-fueled movement goes terribly wrong.
Emma Stone was the most paranoid person I had ever met. In private she wore a full suit of medieval armor at all times, visor down.
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