9/11 and Writer’s Block

The problem with writer’s block is that it always comes when I most need inspiration. The problem with inspiration is that it always comes when I don’t have time to write.

I have been experiencing inspiration in the middle of the day at work and late at night right before bed. These great ideas for blog posts hit me and they’re gone before I can write them down or even type out a note in my phone. This is the downfall of not being a full-time writer. Hell, I’m barely a part-time writer now, but I’m trying. What makes it so hard is that when I actually do have time to sit down at my computer and tap something out, I’m at a loss.

So that’s where I am right now. At my computer, with a blank screen in front of me and a blank mind to match it.

Instead, I just keep shopping and shopping online and never buying anything. I’ve spent hours and hours in just the last week planning my Halloween costume. I haven’t bought a single part of it yet. I’ve read articles about the most random things. I’ve sat and watched my floaters dance across a white sheet of paper in Microsoft Word. I’ve picked up my phone and put it down again. And picked it up again. I’ve gone to the bathroom and gotten a drink. I’ve taken out my contacts and put on my glasses. I’ve picked at my skin. I’ve done anything I can to avoid this blank screen, this empty page, just… mocking me. Laughing at my ineptitude.

It hurts my heart and soul that I want to be a writer and when I actually have time to write, I can’t come up with anything inspired. Hell, maybe someone will read this someday and feel less alone. But for now all I have is ramblings about my night.

 

Last night, I couldn’t sleep. I thought about 9/11. I thought about all those people. All the stories of survival and death, of heroism and humanity. All those people. They haunted my sleep and I slept through my alarm this morning.

But when I really let myself think about it, I feel this immense pressure. I feel like I have to live my life to the absolute fullest potential and accomplish everything I can. I have to prove that I deserve to be alive when all those other people aren’t. People who had more to accomplish but never got to.

It hurts my heart to think about them and all the things they never got to do. All the lives affected by that awful day. And I feel the pressure not to squander my life.

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