You sit and stare at the computer screen. Go on, type a little. Type: Reasons Why I've Lost My Marbles.
Sleep like a memory machine on overdrive…which means not at all.
Eat like a rabbit who eats ice cream.
Shower twice a day or not at all.
Stare at the page five times until its blankness turns black.
This is who you are. You are a crazy creepy author with no marbles and blackness for words.
You grab a cup of tea. Not grab exactly. Not pour either. Turn on the machine? Turn on the tea. Turn a cup of tea on?
So you don't get tea. Scoop a bowl of ice cream. But scooping bowls makes them break.
Go back empty handed. Scroll through text messages. Scroll through names. Schedule a date for two weeks from now and plan on emailing twelve people to let them know you'll have to rearrange things next Sunday. Occasionally glance at the document with the neatly typed heading and the soon-to-be catchy title and think: maybe there is something, anything else I can do right now.
Move the computer to your lap. Move it to the bed. Put it back on the desk and view it from the kitchen. Begin a step. Then empty the dishwasher. Try again towards the desk. Go around the corner and sit back on the bed. Glance from there. Its still blank, no mistaking it. Still blank.
Tap your fingers. Attempt to tap your toes. Whistle air and spit. Look down at your hands. Look back at the screen. Set a firm brow. Run towards it before it's gone. Sit. Settle. Lay your fingers to the keys. Smile. Type the word the.
Let the rest flow outward:
Don't stop for fear of never starting again.
Blink your eyes to be sure its really there.
Do not edit until the end.
Insert the heading.
Write the references.
Email it out.
Don't breathe until it's finished. Then take one last long look. And never go back.
Twitch until the computer screen goes blank again. Start over.