It has been a week since my brain cells come to a halt. Not that I’m brain-dead but I just can’t think of anything. Another phase of writer’s block perhaps.
I’ve been warned. I’ve tried saving myself in saturating to this kind of phase wherein nothing really comes around, not even a spark, not even a flicker. Ah, there are some but I just can’t seem to collate it and make a thoughtful piece about it. It is just flowing past me. It is all over the place, wherever I am at.
I am in a halt.
Sigh. Shallow sigh. I admit to be completely uninspired these past couple of days. I don’t know the why’s and the what’s to describe that phase, it is just that plain and clear. Never really blossoming into what I want to say, to express. I am in a halt. Never really thinking what is beyond that red flag and it sucks having to bear these.
Sigh. It consumes a part of me too. Though there is that this-is-not-happening kind of way, it drains a part of me thinking that I may not regain from this, losing battle. Maybe the draining part is the effect from the constant combustion, constant digging of thoughts to finally excavate it underneath this inactive mass of ideas.
It has been a week since I’ve tried looking for inspirations. My usual kind of way is to read again the how to’s of overcoming this roadblock, trying to make a U-turn out of it, or seeking the help of an officer to stop me from going to the side of the road and let me return on the lane where I have left off. But having to do these things strained me to whew remarks and headaches making me walk out of it and forwarded to breathe somewhere.
it gets me going when I am in solitude
And that somewhere has something to do too with this roadblock. I am limited to just a couple of hundred square meter house, well, minus the space occupied by the concrete walls, fixtures, furniture and other partitions, again, it becomes smaller than a few square meters. Therefore, I cannot have enough solace. Yes, sometimes it gets me going when I am in solitude like that minute I stare out to nothing in the vast space and then I close my eyes and feel the heaviness of my head gradually dissipates.
And when that happens, soon I am filled with optimism that the next thing will be bright.
Bright like the streak of light as it enters my eyes through my retina and an image will be formed whatever that is. That is what I call the eruption of thoughts, tiny, tiny bit of thoughts, rather words that I begin to collate in my mind and try to make something out of it but very slowly, not in a frantic kind of way. I like that moment of just taking all it in.
After typing that last period in the paragraph above I decided to stop for a minute or two. Just staring at this photo I set as a featured image and I am settled. I regained myself and let those words fire like an ammo in a machine gun and this realization transpired;
I think I have given myself that simple fix, that roadblock I consider somehow is resolved but not completely. And now I feel more refreshed having to let go of all these words carved into thoughts out of my extremities. I am talking about my fingers. Tapping in a staccato manner soon as words come by my mind.
I also learned, through a blog about overcoming that block, that you write yourself out of that roadblock even that time when your light bulb’s not even blinking or luminescent bright.
How about you guys, do you also write yourself out of that roadblock? Because there are still thoughts running inside you just have to pick the timing to whip it in. Do you agree with me?