writer's block

It’s hard to bring yourself to do this.

White fingernails clawing at white, pulpy paper.

This is usually the point where you stop.

The point that brings you crashing to a halt. The frustration builds inside, pumping up and down like a piston. The compression feels like it could blow you apart from the inside out. Like I said, this is the point where you normally stop.

What makes you think this time will be different? What makes this time feel as though you can go beyond this point? Do you feel different? No? Then what?

You’re stir crazy. You can’t even sit still for a minute without pumping your leg up and down. The only things still are your fingers on the keys. Your mind is racing through thought after thought. Nothing makes its way to the paper.

The skin on your knee is rubbed smooth of hair from shaking up and down against the desk. The wood of the desk is polished from the oils in your skin. Orange Glow doesn’t polish wood that good.

For all your thought, all your pumping, all your wishing, this all you can think to put down on paper. This is just done so you feel as though you’re making the effort. So you feel as though you have past the point. You haven’t.