Well, I have to admit that I have been suffering from writer's block. For real. Am not sure it has gone. But I decided to write about it just so that I could feel my fingers tapping away at the keys of this keyboard. I tried using pencil and paper, pen and paper, iPad and computer, but to no avail. And then ... a few days ago I started to write again. Just like that. The ideas started coming together and I found books to read on the subject ... It felt like I had been ill or something.
And then I realized - this is writer's block - blockity block.
I did not like it. In fact, I almost panicked. I have been thinking lately that I would have to find a new form of self expression. But what could I do? After all, I am not an artist. Nor am I comfortable drawing or painting, and am not sure I could dabble in poetry. My singing days are over - surely, and tennis is not as fluid as it used to be - indeed, it is almost shocking to the system.
I guess I have had the block before, and yet never has it seemed so final and total. As I write this post trying to write the block away, I observe that it is about something deeper than just that the topic wasn't interesting, or I have nothing to write about. After all, the topic that I have been ruminating about these past months is full to the brim with psychological implications and discoveries for me. I must admit, it feels like a huge, impenetrable wall.
But, chip away at it I will ...
I must ...
I want to ...
and ...
I think ...
I hope ...
the chipping has begun ...
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