Cerebral Constipation

Nothing is more daunting to a writer than a blinking cursor on a blank page 1 Word document. I hate it! It taunts. It teases. It ridicules me to no end. I’ve been verbally constipated before, but this goes deeper. This is more like cerebral constipation. And it’s serious. I feel like an artist with a blank canvas, tons of paint, but hands too crippled to move a brush. I have a pen. I have a keyboard. Both begging to be touched, but my mind simply refusing them the orgasmic pleasure that is the written word. They remain pure, but unfulfilled. Lifeless. Empty. The cursor keeps blinking at me, like a traffic light screaming to GO! The drive to write is definitely still there, but my fuel line is fucked up as I choke and sputter on poisonous fumes.

I don’t have the extra time, the necessary energy, or the needed direction to finish a thought let alone compose a sentence. Thought process confused. Head feeling scattered, but yet overflowing with puzzle pieces that don’t snap into place anywhere I try to fit them. I have at least dozen posts in draft and a dozen more in a virtual desktop folder lying in wait. Countless catchy titles and powerful phrases, thoughts and ideas scribbled on minuscule pieces of paper. These can be found behind me as I leave a Hansel and Gretel trail wherever I roam. None have made it to publication, but yet many are worthy of a big stage appearance.

My left brain is not speaking to my right brain. I’m not sure if they are fighting or if it’s just a technical difficulty, a dropped signal. Whatever the case may be, I would like them to reopen the lines of communication. Because quite frankly, I can’t take the court jester in my head anymore. The one that keeps laughing hysterically as he slaps me upside the back of my skull with my own Moleskine. It’s not helping my creative writing juices to flow again. It’s simply causing a blood clot. I’m secretly wishing for brain hemorrhage to occur. To bleed it all out, so I can write it all out.

Writing has always been my creativity outlet. It’s what relaxes me and comes somewhat effortlessly to me. Although these days, I find no greater challenge than trying to mix words with pleasure. Writer’s block is painful enough, but when you have too much to write about and suffer from cerebral constipation, it’s excruciating.