Three Ten Pictures

Oh, why do we write?

Every word I type is an act of discipline.  My brain feels heavy on the front end, like there’s a brick inside stopping up my thought-juice.  My eyeballs hurt.  I can’t smile.

I am uninspired.  I am spent.  I have writer’s block.  For years, I’ve bragged I never get writer’s block.  Well, here it is, staring me down like The Man With No Name.  It’s a Gunman: a five-o’clock-shadowed, Mexican-cigarette-chomping, Smith & Wesson-Schofield-wielding-cowboy, and it’s got a bullet with my name on it.

AAARGH!!

My friend just showed me a warning label on her prescription drug, and…

The tension broke.  I smiled.  I feel better about myself as a writer.  Somehow, this prescription mirrors my feelings.  I am compelled to share it with you:

After taking ______, you may get up out of bed while not being fully awake and do an activity that you do know know you are doing.  The next morning, you may not remember that you did anything during the night. You have a higher chance for doing these activities if you drink alcohol or take other medicines that make you sleepy with ______.
Reported activities include:

- driving a car(”sleep-driving”)

- making and eating food

- talking on the phone

- sleep-walking

There’s a lesson to this:

Writing is agony.

AGONY.

Somebody slap me if this project isn’t done by Saturday…