Thursday, February 25, 2010

Writer's Block

The only cure for writer's block is insomnia.
Merit Antares




Writer’s Block
By Kelley Williams



I write about blogging. I blog about writing.

I write about the dust on my TV stand. I write about my dog chewing his foot. I write about the stacks of bills on the kitchen table.

I write about nothing.

I have writer’s block.

I take a break to pluck my eyebrows, and still nothing comes. I write about my eyebrows. They are the bane of my existence.

I write about my laundry, waiting to be washed, dried and folded.

I write about nothing.

I have writer’s block.

I write about colors; my favorite is blue. I write about food; cooked carrots make me vomit. I write about exercising, something I loathe to do.

I write about nothing.

I have writer’s block.

I write about the time my husband got mad.

Now there’s something to write about.

In the eight, almost nine years, I have been with my husband (4 years dating, 4.5 years married) I have only seen him mad once. Yes, you read that correctly. Him. Mad. Once.

He doesn’t get mad when I throw his $90 calculator because he gets a better grade than I do. (Although he does sternly say, “Don’t throw my calculator.”) He doesn’t get mad when I wake him cuz he’s breathing too loud. He doesn’t get mad when I leave my stilettos, heal tip up, in the middle of the floor and he steps on them. He doesn’t get mad when he’s lying in bed trying to watch tv and I get the dogs riled up, and they jump all over him and block his view.

So what was the one thing that made him mad? It had nothing to do with me, of course.

Okay, maybe it had something to do with me. Maybe I was hungry and we had no food in the house. Maybe I wanted bagel bites but didn’t want to get dressed, put on makeup and go to the store. Maybe I wanted him to go get them for me. Maybe he said he would, but the next thing I know, he is sitting on the couch eating. Maybe he is eating, while I am starving. Maybe I get mad and say, “how dare you eat while I am wasting away, while my stomach is so starved for food it is eating itself. I thought you were going to get me bagel bites.” Maybe he says something like, “I will. I just wanted to eat first.” And maybe I was all like, “Well if you loved me, you’d get me food first and we could eat together. But I guess you’d rather I starve.” And maybe he doesn’t take the bait, remains calm, chooses not to fight. Maybe this irritates me. Maybe he finishes eating and says he is going to the store, and maybe I say, “don’t bother.” Maybe he asks, “why not?” and maybe I reply “I’m not hungry.” Maybe he says, “you were just starving and now you’re not hungry?” Maybe I say, “yeah,” and stomp up the stairs. Maybe he says he’s still going to the store. And maybe I say, “it’s a waste of a trip because I won’t eat them.” And maybe he gets mad, throws his keys to the ground and says, “YOU. DRIVE. ME. CRAZY!”

I’m not saying that’s what happened. But maybe when Mark got mad, the cause was something similar to this.

Maybe he went to the store anyway to get the bagel bites because he is such an amazing husband. And maybe I didn’t eat them for four hours, you know, to punish him.

Maybe I am crazy.

Maybe my husband was evil in a previous life and is paying for it in this one.

Maybe his curse is my blessing. Yeah, I think that one’s right.

Maybe when I think I have nothing to write, he is my inspiration.

3 comments:

  1. Woman. I'm so not kidding. I think we're co-existing in different planes of reality. You have Mark, I have Wes. We are...well...US... and Gah... No lie.
    You gotta slap Wes to get a reaction, and most likely it's an eye roll as he catches your hand to keep you from slapping him, because secretly he's a ninja.
    Anyway. I just finally went back a bit to get a LITTLE background on my sister in snark. But I just realized you are me. I don't NEED the background. Just take my story, skew a bit, and it's you. So I'm almost there. Right?

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  2. I've gotten caught up in your world for the last hour and I am wondering how to go about investigating our separation at birth. Yeah, yeah, losers who need a friend are apt to claiming the separated at birth thing. I'm familiar with it, but in this case, it might quite possibly be true. For starters, we both live to write. We both know the feeling of staring into space with a scorching case of writers block, staring at a dust bunny until your mind plays tricks on you that the dust bunny is morphing into a dust comodo dragon. Have you ever typed explicit words repeatedly just to feel like you're doing something with the time wasted on mothaeffing writers block!!!??? Besides the writing connection, you're funnier than a cat on acid. I have been told I am too. This isn't bragging, its fact. (Have you ever seen a cat on acid? It's a doozy on drapery.) The point is, I think you're aces. The blogging is good, the bacon is good, and hell, even your blogs color scheme has me jealous. I'm new to blogging and I hope to be as awesome as you at it some day. That tagging and linking people thing is high tech for a novice like me. I don't know why I'm ranting this. I've just enjoyed reading your stuff tonight and I'm suffering with ass kicking bronchitis right now. The Tussin has me looped out of my damn head. Back to my original statement- we were separated at birth. Okay, maybe not really. But you're cool enough that I would piss on you if you got stung by a jelly fish. And that's saying a lot coming from me. Keep the laughs coming! :) my lord, I just resorted to a smiley face. The cough syrup has made me lame.

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