The clock in my living room ticks lazily as if it was run by a languid and lethargic, seldom punctual mouse that lived inside. My head hurts, it’s muffled and hazy, a sort of feeling one might get when waking up too early. But I didn’t just wake up, I’ve been staring at this piece of blank paper for the past bloody half an hour, fidgeting this stupid pen back and forth.
How come I never noticed how this pen wrote so poorly and its ink flowed so inconsistently?
I space out.
I get up and get myself a snack, a cup of tea and a bowl of jelly beans.
I space out.
I take my phone and scroll through the “Discover” part of Instagram. It’s filled with funny Tumblr posts and twitter threads, and all this tweeting and tumbling of words just makes me lose an hour.
I space out. Is the air in here so hot? I open the window, it is already dark outside, maybe I should go and get myself a nice bubble tea- but the blank page keeps on calling me.
Finally, inspired, I brandish my pen and scribble violently, putting in my heart and soul into what I’ve written.
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And at last!
I curse the writer's block.
And then, I noticed that the clock in my living room ticks lazily as if it was run by a languid and lethargic, seldom punctual mouse that lived inside…
