The Way My Boyfriend Peels an Orange Gives Me Writer’s Block

It’s just one of many very legitimate reasons to procrastinate the words I committed to writing.

When I typed “exasperated” into Pixabay, Kermit clinging to a plant came up, so there you go. Image by Alexa’s_Fotos

I’ve been dragging ass for weeks. I don’t like anything I write. I have to force myself to put down words. I spend an enormous amount of time thinking about how I’ve never had an interesting thought, how I have no stories left to tell, how nothing exciting ever happens in my life. Most of this is bullshit, but the little nugget of truth here is that for me creative work requires energy, time and space. All things I have little of these days.

One of the things I’ve read that made me more jealous than almost anything else was reading the foreword to Christopher Hitchens’ last book Mortality. Graydon Carter wrote in the foreword about how he went to have lunch with Hitchens on a day he had a deadline. The lunch lingered on for hours and Hitchens got wasted. Then he went home and banged out very many extraordinary words in extremely little time. I love Hitchens. And when I read that I wanted to kick him in the fucking face. I wish I had that level of brilliance and talent. It’s like you’re Jello and Crème brûlée walks by.

Dessert analogy. Nice.