Writer’s Block


It sure is hard to write sometimes.

Well, hard to think of things to write at any rate. I certainly don’t mean that sitting here on my couch and typing words with no pants on is hard work. Not that I’m sitting here with no pants on, no sir. Now I am somewhat acquainted with actual hard work. I once worked construction for a few months while living in Florida. I spent a few days lugging around cement bricks for no good reason. I’ve climbed up on precarious scaffolding to put up paint shields. I watched my friend and coworker almost hack his hand off with a grinder. I’ve also dug an actual ditch so when I say I’ve “spent time in the trenches” I am not, as my grandparents might say, “whistling Dixie.”

But sit here and think of something funny to write? Honestly, sometimes I’d rather dig the ditch[1].

I don’t know how it is for actual writers but for me all the stuff comes from my “energy bucket.” If I have a lot of energy it’s easy to come up with funny stuff. If I have no energy, writing something is like trying to get the last bit of toothpaste out of the tube. Or trying to coax the last drop of ketchup out of a bottle. In other words, way more of a struggle than you would think. This is weird because I think of funny stuff all day.

For instance, while at work the other day a male co-worker was about to swat me in the head with a sales paper. “You had a bee on your head,” he said. I then suggested that if he were to “help” me in this manner I might “help” him with the bee that had just landed on his groin area… with my fist. I had a very clear image in my mind of punching this young man square in the crotch and then saying, “You had a bee on your junk. But I got it for ya.” I thought this was hysterical.

But man, I’m sitting here with no wife or child in the house and I cannot think of a single funny thing to write. I think it’s because my bucket is always empty. When I’m not at work helping a woman get wiper blades for a car that she doesn’t know the year, make, or model of, I’m at home. At home I’m doing puzzles, playing with ponies, or trying to make our house not look like an episode of Hoarders. All that activity empties the bucket and I feel like a pumpkin with the insides scooped out.

Sometimes I don’t even have the energy to play video games. I know, right? Ridiculous! Ah, the life of the husband and father. Wouldn’t trade it for the world.[2]


[1] That is, dig a ditch in either Florida or Georgia. Where there are no actual rocks in the ground.

[2] No sarcasm. I really wouldn’t trade it for the world. My family is awesome.


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