But then you lose the connection.  You don't feel it.  It's just another day.  Some form of plans to make.  You don't know what.  Do you have enough green tea...  You want to protect your time, use it wisely, not give it away.  You don''t know what to do, really.

Let's see.  Needs:  green tea.  Soda water.  meat.  vegetable.  car reservations.  v8.  Take care of the body.  Do the laundry.

And nothing comes, and this is scary.  You seem to have lost an energy.  A train of thought.

You can only gather that you have said your piece, your peace, that that's it, and you now have to move on to another thing.  Look for a job, a real job.

Ah, but it's a dreary day out anyway... St. Patrick's Day, should I be out and about in all that?  Nah.  Got the trip to go see mom to get ready for.  And too many loose ends here anyway.  At my age, I don't travel well until I am actually traveling.


But you have to wonder, where does the writer's block come from...  It's as if there's something you wish to address, but something, as if a devil, Satan, is stopping you from uttering.  It's like the experience of an intrusion, like an unwanted advance, the experience of being pushed into something you didn't want to do is hanging over you.  Peer pressure.  Nerves.

And really the only treatment, some form of kindness, some form of spiritual advice...  Forgiveness.

One writes to express the good things, holy things, spiritual things...  things which often do not receive the translation they deserve in this world.  The writer owes it to himself to protect the writing space.

It's hard to write, it is.  And somedays, you're just taking blind stabs at it.