Tidbits of a Mind.

Writer's Block

Writer's Block.

It's disgusting, don't you think?

Writer's Block is sitting in a room with nothing to do, nothing to think about, nothing at all.

Writer's Block is feeling really sad, but not being able to cry. It's when it's impossible to bring yourself to be a level of physical grief, but instead it's just an empty space.

Writer's Block is being lost in a town where no one speaks your language. No GPS, no one understands your thoughts well, it's just you and a map with random ink blotches. No one can write your own story or your destination. It's up to you.

Writer's Block is wandering a zoo with empty cages. There's information to help you understand, but no matter how much you look, there's nothing inside the box of ideas. The jail bars coldly sting your hands as onlookers watch and admire the beautiful creatures invisible to you.

Writer's Block is breaking a bone. It might take days, months, years to heal. Wearing a cast for too long makes you want to bend it more. It needs therapy, but that comes with painful movement, repetition.

Writer's Block is hiding a candy stash and then forgetting where you left it. No matter how rotten or expired, you lost that and now you can't find it again.

Writer's Block is sitting in front of an open word document, the caret blinking tauntingly, waiting for any prompts to reveal itself. Yet, there's nothing there. Just a fresh indent waiting to be typed on, but no letters to follow with.

Writer's Block.

Disgusting.