Writers Block
As I sit with my butt on the edge of my chair and feet supported by a second, I type and delete word after word waiting for the write ones to appear on the screen. My fingers caressing the keys as though I am trying to woo them into doing the work for me. With that failing, I fall back on the hunt and peck technique. In this method I use only my index fingers to smash the alphabet into submission.
Still nothing.
As the sun slowly works its way overhead, as the baby goes from sleeping to awake and back to sleeping and as dinner transforms from a thought in our minds to finished food on the stove top, I grow anxious.
My mind as empty as can be.
I feel like a tyrannosaurus rex reaching for, well, anything. My minds arms swinging wildly trying to snatch a proper thought from a lottery ball tumbler. Despite the density of items floating around, none are winners. Most are blank white balls- no numbers. Nothing.
Most days it’s the opposite.
Typically I have a hand full of winning numbers and I’m sifting out the silver from the gold. Thoughts and ideas come to me throughout the day, which I can use as fuel for a grueling, yet relaxing, finger workout on the keyboard.
Yet today, my brain seems useless.
I guess this will have to do.
