The Block
This is where my mind stops, a dead-end street with no signs. Writer’s block has held me hostage for months. My boss is on my ass about having a new best seller, but I can`t seem to get passed those three words. Sad, isn’t it? I feel like SpongeBob that had to write an essay and couldn’t get passed the word “The”.
In this forgotten Florida town, I’ve built a world inside my own bubble, one word at a time. Many people don’t even know I exist and that is how I like it. lately though, I have not been inspired. maybe a change is needed.
If my mom was here today, she would say “Emily, you need a change of scenery. Get out there and experience what life has in store.” If only she knew how hard it is to live life after her. My mom was and still is everything to me. Most people think grief has an expiration date. A few months, maybe, before life goes back to normal. But they’re the lucky ones—the ones who don’t know what it’s like to lose something that takes a piece of you with it. I envy them. Writing is the only thing that keeps me from drowning in it. That Woman was my best friend. Some might say it’s sad that my best friend was my mom, but to me, she was everything a mother and a best friend could be—compassionate, loving, understanding, selfless, and dependable. She was my therapist, my doctor, my chef (sometimes), and most of all, my rock.
One day, I hope people talk about me the way I talk about her. At least that’s what I’m trying to do. kind of hard for people to talk about me if they have never met me. Sometimes, I feel like the only proof of my existence is the nod from the gas station clerk and the half-smiles from the grocery store cashiers. It’s still nice to imagine having people that care about you though. I sound like a depressed teenager that is about to run away from home. Well, maybe I should. This place has given me nothing. I sit here for hours, pouring out my soul, and get nothing of real value in return. Sure, the money is good—but what is money when you have no one to share it with? To a loner like me, it’s just another useless tool, like a screwdriver with no purpose. I buy the necessities get tattoos and give the rest away to the local homeless shelters. At least someone should get something out of it
If I had the ability to switch off my emotions, I wouldn’t hesitate. Life has a way of doing that to you—making you want to curl up in a ball and do nothing for weeks. I wonder what my depression room would look like if I just let go completely. You know those satisfying cleaning videos where people transform disaster zones into spotless spaces? They always say, ‘Don’t judge,’ but let’s be real—you kind of are. I have this thing though where my mood gets worse if my space is a mess. I feel like as long as I have my space looking nice and organized maybe my head would mirror that, If only! I wonder what you would think of my house if it represented my mood.
Luckily, I was able to buy my own apartment, so I actually have a home to call my own. Too many memories at moms.
I have got to get out of this crappy headspace, I’m starting to concern myself. Maybe this is why I have the block. I know right now I’m in no state to help others escape their own reality. My life needs excitement even I know that. But how can I find excitement when I’m an extrovert hiding in the shell, I’ve so carefully built around myself?
All this thinking has got me feeling hungry. One thing I do know how to do is eat. If it weren’t for my high metabolism and love for my indoor gym, I’d have a lot more curves.
Nothing against that I’m all for body positivity. Hell, I wish I had more shape to me. I think everyone has something they don’t like about themselves. For example, I hate my boring brown eyes. Everyone seems to admire blue or green, but not brown. Worse yet, mine have these little gold flecks in them—how weird is that?
Where was I? Oh yeah, I’m hungry. I just ran out of dinner food, so it looks like I need to make a trip to the store.
As I hop into my cherry red Jeep Wrangler, I’m hit with the scent of rodents and crusty feet. I regret to admit that I don’t clean my car as often as I should. It’s the complete opposite of my house—while my home is spotless, my car is a pigsty. No time to clean it right now. I gotta feed my food baby.
I absolutely love Jesse Murph! She is Heaven sent I’m convinced. Her song “High Road” with Jelly Roll is one of my top five songs of hers so you already know what I’m blaring on the radio. I’m mid-song, belting the lyrics with all my might, when a blinding light suddenly floods the sky. A second later, everything goes dark. WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?
