For my dayjob, I work from home. So naturally, I stayed up far too late the night before and woke up the last second I could.
For the first half hour my stomach was searing with pain. “Must not have cooked the steak in those tacos all the way.” I resisted spewing out either end, hoping for the first hour to past quickly so I could take my first break of the day.
Sad to say, I could only stand half an hour before running to the bathroom for relief. Afterwards, I called work to let them know I wouldn’t be finishing my shift; my plan was to drink a bunch of water and sleep off the awful feeling. Thankfully the call-off line is automated, so I didn’t have to speak to anyone.
Filled with a light amount of food and water, I sat in my office, dwelling on the same sense of *bloat* I’ve felt for almost a month now: a bloat of words stuck in my colon-brain.
I’ve watched movies; I’ve read books; I’ve read magazines; I’ve taken a pack of half-notecards worth of notes… But nothing had come of it.
YES, I have all these ideas and topics and seeds and yet I’m creatively constipated. What luck! “I don’t know what to write about.” I say to myself.
Shit, three notecard boxes filled with plenty of *something* were sitting on my desk, within eyesight. Nevermind the corkboards on the wall, or twitter (with tweetdeck, an endless stream of topics), or any of my old notebooks or freewrite printouts, or the many writing prompt books friends and family have bought me over the years.
NO, I’m done with this. If only at 300 words or so at a time, I’ve got to [poop/write]. (I don’t know how else to put it.) I have to [poop/write] as much as I can, and resist the urge to [not poop/not write] with all my power.
This post has gotten away from me. I’m laughing, when initially I was cross and frowning. I’ve discovered, through a little discomfort, the title for this post as well. So as the post began, it will now end, with…
Creative Constipation: Unloaded.