I am supposed to write. Especially on those days that I spend doing nothing except catching up on re-runs of Jerry Springer and two and a half men (earlier Charlie Sheen series only) but nothing happens.
I have writers block.
The dusting and the vacuuming can wait. It will only be dirty again tomorrow and they never were my favourite tasks anyway so I ignore them.
I know the block is in my head and no place else.
It’s a weird transition. That time between leaving work and taking up the position of paid writer.
Actually making the move into being paid is the biggest hurdle. It plays a huge part in my writers block I feel although that could just be me making excuses…again.
Life drifts by one slow day after another and nothing gets written but at least I know what happened to the long lost sister of the catholic priest who found his best friend’s cousin in bed with the gardener.
At least I am up to date with how many times he cheated on his wife with her sister and at least I have a fair idea what’s about to happen with Charlie and Chelsea. I do feel sorry for Alan, at least I take comfort in the fact that someone’s life is more of a disaster than mine right now.
Not that I want to appear dramatic you understand.
The ironing gets done and so does the washing up. I have munched my way through a packet of chocolate chip cookies and drank six cups of coffee (the 12 spoons of sugar kick in and I feel quite high) all before lunch.
This can be a frustrating life.