I don’t know what to write. So I stare blankly at the screen, and at the worn keys under my fingers. I open up the word document, and I imagine this pretty white girl with brown eyes and a button nose. The trouble is that she’s got no personality, and no character. I scrap the idea. Even her name doesn’t match. “God you’ve got no ideas,” This is what I tell myself. “Maybe it’s the fact that I’m fasting and I have no food in my stomach.” That’s another thought, but hey I know that’s a lie.
I decide to just write, let the words flow and just let my consciousness flow out as if that were the only thing to exist at the moment in time. It happens, the gate opens up and the flood of words come out. I imagine that I’m a writer, writing about another writer who has Writer’s Block. I want him to overcome his little problem and it clicks. This is who I want to be. It’s a mirror behind you and front of you, all you have to do is look in and the depths extend themselves into infinity. The shit scary part about all of this is that that I’m writing this as I’m thinking it.
So my next thought is to imagine a guy who needs something to do. He’s the guy who sits at work bored out of his skull with nothing to do but browse internet sites and do crossword puzzles. He writes on the paper letting words flow through is mind. That’s what he does at that moment, and in that moment he realizes his vocabulary is about as big a snail’s shell. Still, he figures out eighty percent of the words. So he’s not that bad after all. Maybe he just needs some inspiration, like snot faced workers who don’t know when to shut their mouths or cold dry weather. Neither of them work.
It may be that this guy needs something else. He needs something to think about. Something he feels.
So what’s he feeling? Frustration, anger, agitation? Yes he’s feeling that but he’s also feeling thirst and a little hunger but those are physical. Those are the things that stay in the moment and go if you choose to let them go. Maybe he’s got to see around him. The screen planted on his desk he hasn’t switched on, or the cloth with a square tile design dividing his cubicle from his manager and colleagues or does he look at the phone with a missed call on it that he knows he’ll eventually get if he waits long enough. Those are just three things to look at and god damn he forgot that his desk is so damn untidy. That’s mostly because of the ridiculous amount of power strips sitting on the desk with cables stretching over the cubicle dividers like black tentacles drawing power into lifeless silicon. Ha!
Then he sees a box with magnetic tapes that the company uses for backups. I’ll be damned if that these each cost around two thousand rands per tape. For a small device that probably costs a fraction of what it’s paid for it’s pretty ridiculous.
So he realizes that this is a pretty pointless rambling on about some random items.
Well hey! I forgot I had writer’s block.
Thanks dude. Your cubicle was awesome, we’ll talk again.
