I sobbed silently. Tears streamed down my cheek and dripped onto my favorite brown pillow. My heart hurt in my chest and my nose was so clogged up that I gasped for oxygen. After a good five minutes, I just sunk my face into the pillow. I had no more tears to shed. My pillow was soaking. Then I asked myself, "What was I crying about?"

I guessed that I cried from nostalgia. I laughed at myself and decided that I cried from boredom, but how could I? I had so many things to do. So, I wrote a to-do list. Then, I ripped out each item on the list and placed them in the lime-green, embarrassing Summer hat that Mom gave me to wear at the Beach last Summer to give the hat another use besides wearing it. I folded the floppy flaps so that the edges would meet, and I shook the hat up and down. I needed to research colleges, plan events for my clubs, and send out e-mails, amongst other things. I closed my eyes, pinched one of the items, and opened the paper.

"Drawing?" I chuckled. "Seriously?"

I drew all the time when I was a freshman to express my feelings and keep me from doodling on my notes (the smiling sun doodle in the corner was a great distraction). After freshman year, I had less time and better concentration. I became more analytic, but I feared that I was losing my creativity.

I hopped out of bed and grabbed a sheet of paper and a pencil. I planted myself at my desk in silence, drawing dashes and lines and waves. When I was done, it looked as if I was "expressing" that I needed to be checked into a mental asylum, so I just balled it up and threw it on my bed to be lost underneath the sea of junk underneath it.

I tried again, deciding to draw with purpose instead of randomly. I put on my headphones and listened to smooth jazz for inspiration. I wanted to draw a landscape--the beach, since everyone was there except for me. I started out drawing palm trees, which I hated, because I couldn’t figure out what kind of beach would have only two random palm trees on the shore, so I drew a hammock between them, plus a shoreline, and a big circle—the sun.

I vowed to myself that I would move on to my next task when I finished. But the drawing wasn’t finished. It wasn’t enough. I thought of all the things that I would see on the beach, like a dolphin, but they were hard to draw. After giving my sun gentle solar flares, I attempted to draw a dolphin. I started with its' tail fin curving up to draw the rest of it’s tail before thrusting my energy into drawing the dorsal fin. Then came the head and the snout.

How perfect! Then the drawing became more detailed: I was in the hammock, looking up at the sky with my crossed legs carelessly dangling out of the hammock with my fingers stroking the sand. A glass of lemonade and a pail with a toy shovel sticking out sat near my hammock. An impressive sand castle guarded by a moat and declared mine with a flag made from a stick and a leaf stood nearby. A sail boat calmly drifted in the ocean.

I looked over it, erasing what needed to be erased and detailing what needed to be detailed. Then, I finished. I posted the drawing to Facebook. Then, feeling extra proud of my work, I showcased my work on my refrigerator. I had so much pride in my picture that I thought it would persuade my parents to take me to the beach. It didn't, but at least I had something to make my beach-bound friends envious: the Perfect Beach Trip.