The End.
Just kidding.
Woke up this morning with first lines instead of ‘Good Morning’ rolling off my tongue. Went to the docta and the docta said, “No more sleepin’ with books in yur head!” When you live with a physician, he’s always trying to diagnose you.
“I’ve seen this before. Classic case of Writer’s Block,” Dr. Hubby says.
“Is it bad? Can it be cured? Will I have to be quarantined?”
Rubbing his goatee, since he’s not into the beard thing
unless he’s facing a bitter Alaskan Winter, in which case the beard comes in handy to avoid cheek chap, Hottie Hubs in a white coat says,
“You see hon, that’s the problem. You hit the head right on the nail. [Yeah, hubby has a secret dream to be a writer too…he just doesn’t know it yet.] Because you quarantine yourself with tunnel vision as you stare at your computer, you make yourself susceptible to a chronic case of Writer’s Block.”
“Sorry Babe. Can I call you Babe, Doc?”
“Only in the bedroom….”
[An hour later…Welcome to P.G. 13 blogging people.]
“So Babe, break it down for me. In lay-writer’s terms. What does my typing cave have to do with Writer’s Block?”Sigh. Because this doctor does not have patients for this non-compliant nut case.
“I’m gonna say this only once. So pay close attention.”
I lean in. My physical disposition forces me to focus. “Yes?”
“You have to read the news. CNN. Fox. ABC. Pick one. You can’t just escape to your setting and characters in your novels and forget to stay in touch with the world around you. You are blocking out the madness surrounding you as you write.”
“I thought that was a good thing.”
“At times, [More goatee stroking] it can be. But if you keep this up, you will lose touch with the world. You will find yourself stuck in the year 2011, when the rest of us have moved on to the future.”
“And will it be difficult for me to get back to the future?”
[Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.]
“Only time will tell. By the way, did you hear the story of the nineteen-year old in Great Neck who….”
I raise my hand to halt my enabling spouse, a strategic body language tool I picked up at a writing conference. “Say no more. I will read about it. Right now.”
Come to find out a nineteen-year old in Great Neck posed as several high school students [one at a time] and completed the SAT for Benjamin-flashing high school seniors, and he just got busted. Apparently, he always scored near 2400, making the $2400 spent seemingly worth it. Until now, when both criminal and accomplices will never step foot on any college campus. Anywhere. No one wants a cheater. As an SAT tutor, I am highly offended by both the criminal and the fakers.
Also found out that over seven hundred people protested on Wall Street this weekend. Really. They occupied the Brooklyn Bridge. I bet the Manhattan slammers got a bit cozy after all the arrests. The News is chalk full of fascinating information. About what’s supposedly happening. In reality.
So what motivated my hubby to make the house call today, you might ask. This all stemmed from an incident in the kitchen. Just as I finished slicing a succulent, perfectly ripened cantaloupe, hubby takes the entire bowl and dumps it in the garbage. “Are you trying to kill us?”
“What?” I am still holding the knife in the air.
“Don’t you watch the news?”
“Why? Was there something about poisonous melons on it today?”
He just walks away, rubbing his goat, shaking his head, praying for me.
I think.
thanks Roomie!! yeah. watched the news last night. did you hear that Japan just offered over 10, 000 free flights if you agree to write about tourism?? Hmmm… if you room with me???? 😉
Bummer about the cantaloupe! Now, after such a prescription, none of us should ever have writer’s block again!
Nice post.
Have a fantastic evening, Roomie:)