At lunch today I sat there and wracked my brain for something to blog about ... and I came up empty. I wound up working on my current ghost story instead. It's becoming longer than I had planned, but as anyone who has actually spoken with me can tell you, my stories do tend do drag on a bit.
That's what editing is for!
The end result of all this is that now it's 11:00 at night, and technically I only have an hour to get something in here for Wednesday ... and I'm sitting here wracking my brain and coming up empty.
I'm doing what I can to help myself think. For a while I was spinning my chair back and forth, but that didn't help. I tried drumming on the chair arms for a while, but that just degenerated into the solo from "Wipe Out". Whenever I drum on anything like that it becomes that solo. Actually, it becomes an arrhythmical mess, but I always say it's the drum solo from "Wipe Out". Less embarrassing that way.
Hold on, this is an emergency. I know what I need to do. I'll be back in a bit.
Okay, I'm back. Took me a while to get back. I decided to do what really helps me think. I grabbed the book I am currently reading and headed into the bathroom. I didn't have to go (have you noticed that even when you don't have to go, if you go in there and sit down you suddenly have to go just a little? I call it the Token Trickle. I Tokened, but that was it.) but I stayed in there reading "Full Dark, No Stars" by Stephen King.
Man, that dude can write.
So I stayed in there, reading and waiting for inspiration to hit, until I got to a good place to put the bookmark back between the pages. I closed the book and rose from my seat.
I said I rose from my seat.
Okay, I tried to rise from my seat, but apparently my legs up and died from the knee down. I made myself get up, holding on to the vanity counter for support and tried to walk back in here.
Have you ever noticed that when your legs are dead from the knee down you ...
What are you looking at me like that for? What, like I'm the only one to ever have done this? Horse hockey! You know you've done the exact same thing! Maybe not for the same reason, but you've done it more than once, so you keep your weird 'I don't know what you're talking about' looks to yourself. You get me?
So anyway, have you noticed that when you are in this odd dead-leg state, when you try to walk your ankles don't flex properly? You lift your foot from the floor and instead of actively stepping it just hangs off your ankle like it's in desperate need of a large Viagra shipment? You try to step forward normally, try to bring your foot down heel first like you did on the way in to the room you are now trying to leave, but your foot just refuses to cooperate? You wind up doing this exaggerated tippy-toe, looking like the villain sneaking through a silent film. You aren't silent, though, as the circulation always begins to come back before you get wherever you are going, even if it's just across the room. It's like that trickster, God, has turned the entire floor into one huge joy-buzzer, and with every step you hear yourself saying "ooohhhh .... ahhhhhh ..... ohmiGod ...".
So, I just ooohhhh .... ahhhhhh ..... ohmiGod dead-foot tippy-toed my way out into the hall and into my room. Half-way here I realized I had forgotten my book, and I gave going back for it a brief consideration.
So I managed to collapse into this chair here, and here I'm staying. The joy-buzzer feeling is starting to subside, thank God, but I think I'll give it a while yet before I try to walk anywhere.
Besides, I still have to think of something to write for today's ... hang on. What the ...?
I just did a word-count on the babbling I just did up there. Over 700 words. 700 words of nothing. Nothing!
Waitaminute... a whole piece about nothing? Holy @#$&!! It sounds like I just wrote "Seinfeld"!
I have to post this, then go back and read it. I really wasn't paying attention when I wrote it.
This is Writer's Block?
Talk to you later!