A Writer's Diary - Part 6: The Text About Getting Stuck

A fine day, but her mind had gone a little foul. She mumbled in her thoughts. Mumblegrumble.

Come to me, oh Inspiration.

Foul and foul alike. Another thought went past, but she couldn’t get a hold of it. Anger rose in her; black-and-red clouds of pyroclast, reeking of sulfur and death.

Yet again, she banged her head on the desk. Little drops of lukewarm coffee speckled debris papers, and she roared. Banged her head. Banged her fist. Banged both fists.

Her skin ruptured and now she bled.

Maybe it was all too much. Maybe she was in over her head.

Nope! She refused to let it go. Yes, her day had gone wrong since yesterday. And yes, her body was totally against her; but how in the three deep hells would she ever get anything done in this life if she were to wait for the good days.

Good days were a precious few; an exotic currency in which nothing could be traded. And if she had five in a year, that was a lot.


Suck it up, princess.

Her brain groaned with sleep deprivation. Her stomach cackled evilly.

Shut the fuck up.

She picked up the coffee and swallowed it all. For about four seconds, her brain went weeeeeee!, and then fell silent again.

Fucking zombie mode.

Get over it get over it get over it!

Then she laughed. It was not a nice laugh.

Piss off and let me do my work already!


A sigh like a soggy floor mat. Hands covering her face.

She pulled her glasses off.

They were blue, her glasses. She liked that color. That particular blue. It was a cold, sharp, yet smooth blue; comforting a riling at the same time. She envied it. To be so at one with itself, and so wholesome in the world. 


And now she was wasting time. She knew it. She could feel the words underneath the surface. She just couldn’t reach them. They slid off her synapses like bland little jellyfish. She grabbed and grabbed for them, but they just laughed like the little menaces they were, and slurped right out of her grip. 


«Meeeeeeeeeeeh!» she groaned.

Maybe call her friend?

It was tempting. But she knew all she would achieve was a headache, unnecessary complaining, and time waste for both of them. Probably.

Maybe not.

The phone stayed on the table.

Her eyes travelled out the window.

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