Help me find my column; it ran far away

I’m sorry to bother but I need your help. My column ran away yesterday and I really need to get it back.

I know now that I have only myself to blame. I know how columns get — if you’ve never encountered one directly, they can be an especially moody sort. In the back of my mind, I knew I was being too rigid towards it from the beginning, but I simply couldn’t stop myself. You see, it was my last column and I wanted it to be something special. Something different.

It began, like each one of my prior columns, with all the potential in the world, but it wasn’t long before it crashed to pieces, buried under the weight of my impossible expectations. The blank page stared at me for a while, sizing me up, begging me to give it some shape and distinct form beyond the name on the upper left-hand corner of the page.

It wanted to be written. I didn’t understand this fully until after the column ran off, but now I realize what I should’ve known all along. It had aspirations of its own — aspirations every bit as valid as my own and aspirations I chose to ignore. The blank page wanted to be as different and special as I wanted it to be. I, however, couldn’t stop myself and kept pushing and pushing. I needed it to be something it wasn’t and I think it simply cracked under the pressure.

Anyone who has ever strung words together on paper can tell you: The relationship between a blank page and a writer is especially fragile and needs to be nurtured with proper care.

I began to forget about the form, shape and identity of the column itself and focused instead on its repercussions and influence. Letters became nothing more than the building blocks of words and words became nothing more than the building blocks of sentences, but nothing had any intrinsic meaning of its own. I focused solely on the grandiosity of the final column — my need to make my mark as a Northwestern columnist — and ignored any nuance belonging autonomously to the column itself.

It was perhaps at this point when things turned really sour. The blank page, which moments prior had been eagerly awaiting its form to take shape, soon realized my sinister intentions and started to mock me. It winked at me via the occasional blip on my computer monitor — “What now, Daniel,” the column taunted, “how the hell are you going to write me now?”

Obviously, I couldn’t. Irreparable harm had been done to our relationship and, I imagine, it decided that I no longer was the person who deserved to give the column its shape. I let my own narcissistic aspirations get in the way.

So if you see a blank column lying around with my name in the corner, please try to get it to come home.

I’m worried sick and really need it back.

Daniel Magliocco is a Weinberg sophomore. He can be reached at [email protected].