I’m suffering through it as we speak. But we’re not really speaking, now are we? This is a one-sided conversation. So I need to go back and correct that first sentence.
I’ve got writer’s block, and it sucks.
I’m going to sit here and stare at this computer screen and try to write a helpful post about curing writer’s block.
Step 1: Drink water.
Conclusion: I feel a tad bit better. More alert. Quenched.
Step 2: Don’t write a post about writer’s block, because I’m already bored with the subject. I want to do something fun, so moving on.
Since payday’s today, and there’s always chatter floating around the office about a herd of people splitting a lottery ticket 300 ways (and there’s always that one person who’s like, “If I win, I’m still going to work here, because I’m honorable, and I’m no traitor, and loyalty is hard to come by, and I’m boring.”), I’m gonna go ahead and list a few things I’d do with my winnings:
- I’d hire an anesthesiologist to put me to sleep for an hour, and during that hour, a professional team of trainers would move my body like a puppet until my workout was over.
- I’d partake in an episode of Undercover Boss, for what company, it doesn’t matter, but I’d invite an employee into my office, one that does a phenomenal job, we’re talking the best employee ever, and I’d thank that person to death before handing over a check for five dollars just to see their reaction.
- I would still use coupons.
- I’d pay someone to read a book I thought was interesting, and then I’d have them tell me what happened.
- I’d pay off my $6 library debt.
- Starbucks would drop by three times a day, and I’d say, “Thanks for the large latte,” and they wouldn’t dare say, “It’s called a Trenta.”
- I’d pay someone to warm-up my toilet seat by sitting on it 15 minutes prior to launch.
- I would finance one more season of Breaking Bad, and it would be produced in time for good old boring Sunday night.
And cue the writer’s block. Apparently that’s all I’d do if I won a lot of money. Pretty sad, I know, that’s why I don’t play.
Have to keep moving. Have to keep writing. Fighting.
I’m overworked on short stories at the moment, so perhaps if I tried my hand at a poem I’d feel better. Disclosure: I haven’t written a poem since high school, so I’m still under the assumption that it has to rhyme.
Do you like cherry pie?
I think it is fine,
To drink cherry pie with wine.
And to dine, after wine,
No one will yell, and send you to Hell,
Or cast you under with a warlock spell,
Because you are doing well,
Doing things out of order,
At least you are not an A&E hoarder,
Or one of those dudes crossing the border.
Are you a guy?
I’m not sure what I’ll do with the answer,
But if you are,
Good day, Sir.
I really started to struggle at the end. Not my best work, but surprisingly, not my worst either. I guess some people will reflect upon my poem and imagine Heaven and Hell waging war during what was supposed to be civil negotiations served over a delicious feast. Others will click the X at the top right of the screen and won’t get this far.
That’s the beauty of poetry—you can never win.
How else can I fight this writer’s block?
House of Cards: My wife and I have been binge-watching this series on Netflix, and we’re almost caught-up—only one episode to go. It’s basically a backstabbing fest. The politics can really bend your brain, force you to pause and ask whoever else you’re watching with WTF is going on? So it asks you to work a bit, and that’s fine, because I feel as though it pays off. The acting is top-notch, and there’re a handful of super awkward moments I would never want to watch again.
Look at that—I think writer’s block is all but done, because I just wrote a bunch of semi-coherent words, and everything after this is smooth sailings. Writer’s block isn’t dead though, and that’s the way I want it, so let me perform a fatality by hitting it with a new, super deluxe album from my long-thought-dead/broken-up band.
We started off as The Office Band, well, because I work in an office. Then there was animosity amongst the members, and people came and went (I believe one member died), and the band’s name changed several times, I can’t remember all of them, but there was an album based on the topic of driving, a few about writing, maybe even one about fitness, I’m not sure.
But what I am sure of is that my new band is officially called…
The Super Market Band
Ramming the Savings Down Your Throat
- I came here for the Redbox
- Expiration date: 100 B.C.
- You had me at “Fuel Perks”
- You didn’t go to “Krogers” because you only went to one!
- Come with me if you want to eat
- Cleanup on aisle blood, guts and tears
- I’ll just leave my cart right here, in the middle of the highway
- Unleash the samples
- You best be doubling that coupon
- Define “Adult Milk”
- The grocery store ate my bank, daycare, dry cleaners, pharmacy, florist and blood pressure machine
- Self-check yoself
- Discontinued Meat Sale
- Aircraft carriers are modeled after children’s carts
- She forgot to charge me for the Mentos, oh yeah! Uh huh! Best day ever!
- Paper or plastic or an inconvenient $20 (holds at least one gallon of milk) green bag?
- Over-the-counter hugz
- You’re on my grocery list
- “163 items over—Officer, take this man into custody.”
- My grocery store gives me two types of gas
- Those were on sale, I saw it with my own two peepers!
- It was supposed to say, “Fresh”, but after a simple error, it said, “Human Flesh”
- Excuse me, Sir, you can’t just stir the hardened mashed potatoes until they’re semi-soft again…or maybe you can.