Writer's Cramp

I sit here listening to the TV blaring in the background, the occasional laughs from family, dog grunting and obnoxiously loud fan of an XBOX cooling it's overworked insides. I wanted to write something for quite some time now and when I'm driving, in the shower, playing with my toddler or closing my eyes for a night's rest I can think of all the topics. I recite the lines I will rhythmically stroke on the keyboard, making them flow like a soft fall breeze.






As the leaves change color and slip away from the trees, my thoughts change color and words slip away at my finger tips. Instead I just write. I write words that may not work together. I make sentences that don't flow. Finally I make up my mind there isn't anything worthy of writing at this time. I then close the borrowed lap top and hope another day I will collect my thoughts on paper. When that happens I will write about the fall breeze, the chaos of having a toddler, the images of PTSD in the lives around me, the laughter of a very young boy and the wonders of a playful imagination. Until then the unexercised key strokes of the computer will remain untouched as the neglected thoughts remain in my mind somewhere. They are all waiting to once again be discovered in life's little game of what I could only remember as writer's cramp when it is actually called writer's block.