I do not have writer’s block. If I had writer’s block, then I wouldn’t have anything to say. I would stare at the computer screen for hours and come up with nothing to say. I have things to say; I just can’t remember what they were. Mentally, I try to recreate the situation that led to these Ideas. (Or maybe they were Thoughts.) I had just crossed the street coming back from the grocery store. A car had actually stopped to let me by on the cross-walk. As I hopped up to the sidewalk, the Thought popped into my head. I toyed around with the Thought for the rest of my walk home. I remember as I started the last block, the most secluded part of my walk as I pass between a block-long row of parked buses and an overgrown hedge, I decided this Thought was The One for my blog this week.
I’m sure that this Thought was profound and deep. Perhaps I was contemplating humanity (or its absence) in the produce section of the grocery store. That’s a toss-up: The produce section seems to collect both wonderfully helpful people and obliviously self-absorbed people. Or perhaps it was an ode to the beauty and persistence of spring flowers growing in the cracks of the sidewalk. But, I guess I can admit that my Thoughts sometimes lack profundity and are sometimes just whimsy. So, perhaps my Thought was really a flight of fancy. Perhaps it was one of the many Ideas for a children’s storybook that I will never write. (These Ideas jump into my head all the time just begging to be turned into storybooks. Unfortunately for them, my fingers learned how to type and forgot to learn how to draw. And storybooks really are nothing without pictures. My poor pictureless Ideas are probably sorry that they jumped into my head instead of an artist’s.) Oh, wait! Part of it is coming. It had something to do with . . . my blog and Robert Browning. That can’t be right, but it does sound like me. Oh, there’s another part! It has to do with the weird dream I had in which I was engaged to the guy that I refused in real life. (Huh, this has nothing to do with the grocery store.) Oh, ha! It was a humorous anecdotal piece about my complete inability to read “I’m interested” cues from guys and the messes I get into because of that. Throw some cross-cultural miscommunication into the mix, and you’ve got yourself an interesting conundrum. I’m not sure how Robert Browning fits into this, but I know he was part of the punchline. Perhaps, he wasn’t the punchline. More likely I was admiring his forthrightness. In his first fan letter to then-stranger Elizabeth Barrett, he says that he loves her poems and that he loves her. Straightforward. To the point. Clear. No confusion. No wonder he got the girl.
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