Something of my own

School stresses me out. I watch TV to alleviate stress. Time is eaten away. All of these things sap my creativity. Sometimes I have to sit down and force myself to think and write. It's been a while, and this was written as abruptly as it was aborted, so it's probably terrible. Apologies in advance. i went fishing today and that big lake was cold. i cast my line so far couldn't see where it hit. felt tension on the line - like every other time - except this time it was just the weight of distance. and suddenly the reel was tethered to my chest. and as i was dragged down, the bitterness washed off. exquisite, enduring pressure grew but was numbed by the frigid depths i shared with broken driftwood. and somewhere my target, elusive and luring, danced among the shipwrecks a million miles away.