Bug Bite

I have a bug. Not a contagious one or one that will give me a sniffly nose and scratchy throat. This one is mental. The Writing Bug has bitten me in the rear and I don't quite know how to stop the itching. The obvious answer would be "write, dummy." I knew that much. But WHAT to write? I'm too young for a memoir, too limited for travel essays, too modest for a romance (although, hmm...). Thoughts and ideas and characters fight for attention--attention that would fill them in, flesh them out, build them into more than just scraps of imagination--but they struggle to get over the hurdle that is simultaneously my writer's block and inspiration. Do I write a poem? Too short. A novel? Too long! Short stories seem abrupt. Everything else that comes to mind feels tired and cliched. Regardless, they won't leave me alone! My fingertips are aching to dance across the keyboard as my brain forms thoughts into words, and as muddled as they are, just writing them helps me make sense of it all. Not that I'm any closer to writing anything of substance than I was when I opened this post... At least this random jumble of bumbling won't be crowding my consciousness when I try to sleep.