It’s been about one week. One whole week of nothingness. When everything feels wrong when do you know when you’re right? I sit at my desk with a pen in my ear and cigarette in hand. Crumbled papers litter my floor. How sad is that? I can’t even land my bad ideas in the trash can. This is very embarrassing.

My hair is a mess, my bed is made; true sign of an insomniac. So what now? Maybe I need sleep. Maybe my brain is tired, but honestly, what will eight hours cure? All I cam really do is question myself. Whatever I write comes with a question.

Am I okay? I think I’m fine, but this writer’s block is leaving me depressed.

I wonder if my tone in the previous paragraph was clear. If I can’t express my frustration about being blank then I have failed.

Negative Nancy is at the door. She brought a bag, and I think she is staying awhile.

It took me a week and a half to read a 219 page book. There have been weeks where I would read two maybe three novels. Nights where I have cleared through four hundred pages. Days where I have written pages and pages of ideas and stories. There were constant days of constant thinking. Moments where I would be on point, and be very witty. Now…

Casual clatter caused Charlie carelessness considering Charlies constant charisma.

Wait just one second. Alliteration? That is a tool of the trade for a wordsmith. What is this feeling creeping through? I heard a click, like a switch was turned on. I think I need a notebook.

Run to the kitchen and put on the coffee maker. Run upstairs and grab a notebook. I can’t find one, because after all that is my luck. I grab a sketchbook instead. Grab a pen; the good pen with ink that flows as easily as my ideas. Run back to the kitchen and turn the coffee maker off. Pour one cup of coffee. Two sugars and no cream. Put aside one cigarette (my nicotine cure for a job well done) for when I’m finished. Open to a blank page. Place the pen down to write. No ink…well I guess this urge was bullshit. Pull out a pencil and draw instead. I can’t waste the effect of this coffee. Now I’m drawing in my sketchbook, which was not the original plan. I have only one question.

Am I okay?

• Coffee Break