The end of the Block

You can call it a block, but that’s not how it felt. It felt like a great absence, as if my head was completely empty.

It didn’t stop me writing the regular things for this blog, and the little snippet posts that are an instant response to things around me. I seemed to be able to watch, or read, and then scramble my thoughts together. But anything remotely creative, even down to trying to conceive of something of any substance for the blog, was inaccessible.

Some of it, I think, was a side effect of the weather. Now that I’m not a kid anymore, sun and hot weather don’t do much for me. Lay it on like it’s been the past couple of weeks and, whilst its very welcome, I’ve no wish to go outside and bask in it unless I can lean back in a seat at Old Trafford and enjoy the cricket, or if you parked me on a beach in Mallorca.

But that’s not really it. There’s been some stress lately, some stuff that’s had a negative effect, that has me thinking about counselling again (ironically, this was offered by my Doctor the day before recent events blew up, and I turned it down. Pillock.) All these things have tipped my perennially fragile balance.

And it’s not fun, not at all fun to have this great emptiness in my head, completely intangible, and be unable to summon any thoughts to even begin to fill it. I’ve told my Doctor several times, and Counsellors I’ve seen, that it’s the writing that keeps me sane, and it does, and when deserts as it did…

It’s quiet at work currently. We think it’s the good weather: people are out in it, enjoying it, saying soddit, we’ll call up about the broadband, the phone later. There are some long waits, for calls, between calls. I can feel myself sitting there, unable to think, my head like a 3D desert, conscious of just existing without any actual way of moving through the minutes.

And then, without warning, in the shower this morning, getting up earlier because I have a dental check-up, there it came: a thought. A forthcoming scene, in the next chapter I have to write. A character asked me something. She says, what about (redacted): why is this different?

And I recognised it for what it was, a genuinely connective thought. That calls back to a previous incident that was merely an episode, and which now is integrated into the story, which helps to set up the long-planned emotional conclusion of the story. The guilt will not come out of left field. Its seed is planted.

I had a thought. An idea.

And I wrote it all down in the Dentist’s reception, analysing and expanding the initial idea into the areas I’ve just written about above. Oh blimey, it felt good. To think again.

And in quiet moments at work, I have written a substantial blogpost based on a memory that came to me whilst eating some early lunch, a long section of the current chapter, and now this, being rattled through during my last fifteen minute break (less than sixty seconds left). My head is full of words again. I am back to normal. I am back to keeping sane.

Oh, Yog-Sotthoth that feels good!

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