Eurgh, I have writer’s block and I have deadline. I don’t even know if writer’s block is even a thing – it feels like something someone made up. I always have an opinion and I always have something to say. Therefore, I always have something to write. But right now, I just feel like sitting here and eating these dried apricots in my underwear and watching the latest episode of GIRLS for the 10th time. I’m not unmotivated – I just don’t feel strongly enough about anything at this present time because, I guess I’m just content. In this moment, I am perfectly content. OK, maybe a bit unmotivated.

Five years ago when I set about to become a writer, I submitted things to magazines and websites and hounded editors and writers that I admired on Twitter. Bright eyed and bushy tailed, I begged for an opportunity to just even write captions for photos. After years of writing fashion editorial and covering the odd art show or music gig, I now have my own weekly column where I can talk about anything I desire and then they pay me. For a writer, that is the dream. But the dream can swiftly become a nightmare when you are staring at an empty computer screen and spent the last 20 minutes refreshing Facebook and you have nothing to say. There was a time where I was champing at the bit to make myself heard and now that I have a platform, I am hesitant. I’m not gonna lie – I feel ungrateful.

Two years ago I decided to check myself in with a shrink. I was there partly because I felt I actually needed to go and another was so that I could somehow swindle him in prescribing me dexies. Anyway, his name was Dr Beaver so it was practically impossible to take him seriously. Names aside, something else turned me off: I was telling him my woes and I was even crying at one point, so he gets up to go and fetch me a tissue and he comes back with a little book and a little pen and then he sat in his little chair and shook his little head, gave out a little giggle and said, “You’re so Gen Y.” I say to him, “I don’t think I am, hey. I think I actually may be a little crazy. I have people who will fucking vouch for me!” and he goes, “Nope. Let’s do this test…”

So he starts reading out these multiple choice questions. At the end, mostly As means that you’re a drama queen, mostly Bs means that you’re batshit crazy, and mostly Cs means that you’re suicidal. It was a wank, but I did it. And then you know what he does? Snaps his little book shut and goes, “I’ll tell you the answer in your next session.” That is the last time I take a referral from a doctor on Victoria Street. You go in for Xanax and you come out being patronised by a beaver.

I never went back because no one needs to tell me that I am mostly As. The thing that irritated me the most was that Gen Y quip. Look, there is no doubt that my generation has been conditioned to act and respond in the way they do because of the way we were brought up. I think ours is the first generation whose kids are actually probably going to be worse off than their parents. My daughter is mos def not gonna have the silver spoon dangling from her lips like I did. We are, by all accounts, spoiled. Absolutely! But my God, are we paying for it. We’re over-entitled and it is crippling. My job is so difficult sometimes because I overthink and overanalyse and I am my own worst enemy.

Have I done 600 words yet?