Another sentence deleted. No thought’s are coming into my head. It might as well be empty. My brain is heavy. Heavier than usual. I think there’s extra fog. I need a deadline. A deadline would focus my thoughts. Instead I drift across the murky landscape that is my brain. I delve into what I thought were green corners but they are empty at very best, or at worst, they are infested with brambles and nettles. I cut myself on the inside on these corners.
If only I could focus. The words might come tumbling out. A twist? A turn? Another saga worth reading. Instead I drift mindlessly through the cloud. There is no unmined mountain of gold here, only dull grey rock, scree slopes and boulders. No green and grassy track of destiny in sight.
I want to rest my head on the desk. What has happened to my brain, what strange preternatural event has sucked out all my creativity? What dragon of consciousness has eaten my thoughts and left my grey matter to stew in its own inactive juices? How can I write when my head is so bereft of activity? I might as well be filing my nails.
Where is it? Where has it gone. I am like a spider crawling across a painted wall. There is texture there, bumps and grooves but it is invisible to the human eye. Where are those great leaping thoughts? Those sentences that hang together and flow so effortlessly. Would more coffee fix it? A massage? A bath? What will fix this? It is upon me. This nameless creature! It consumes me. The way forward is blocked. Its monstrous. Huge. A wall of grey, aimless words. The path is no longer clear. Blocked I want to yell. Blocked. But words, words, my beautiful precious words, they have failed me. Left me here. With only random letters for company.