Isabelle's Block

ISABELLE’S BLOCK ~


         Isabelle lifted her head from where she had been thumping it on the keypad.

         Damn writer’s block!

         Absently she rubbed the slight indentations on her forehead.  Well, one thing was certain, she needed to stop doing that!

         She needed a muse of sorts.

         Wistfully she stared at the blinking curser on the blank screen as it taunted her.  It was almost as though it stuck it’s fingers in it’s ears (if it had fingers and ears) and stuck it’s tongue (if it had a tongue) at her.  Mocking her.

         Whatever happened to the days when writing was easy, literally flowed from her pen to paper?

         Of course! Pen and paper! Worth a try. Leaning forward she flipped through the shelves above her computer. For heaven sake, there had to be a piece of paper somewhere. And if the pen was mightier than the sword, why didn’t she have one?

         Cursing she yanked open a side drawer on the desk. Rifling through the contents only made her frustration simmer. Getting out of her chair Isabelle knelt on the floor and pulled out each of the other two drawers. Mess! Mess! Mess! When was the last time she cleaned out the shelves and drawers?

         Sitting back on her heels she blew the hair out of her face. No time like the present.

         An hour later her work area sparkled.

         “Awww man!”  The thick layer of dust which had obscured her books and papers now dusted the carpet at her feet.

         A couple minutes later and she was pushing and pulling the vacuum in tidy lines over the carpet. The therapeutic value of a mindless task relaxing her.

         Carpet cleaned she shoved the vacuum back into the closet.

         “What the ….” Stubbornly Isabelle gave the closet door another push. Why wasn’t it closing?

         Opening it wide her eyes took in the mess of clutter she’d chosen to overlook when she had taken the blast thing out.

         Rolling her eyes skyward, Isabelle dove into the task and in 2 and a half hours the closet was more organized than it had ever been.

         “Now that was a workout,” she muttered, snapping the door shut. Squinting at the table next to the closet Isabelle frowned.

         She didn’t want to do it, but couldn’t stop herself. Stretching out her arm she swiped her finger across the dull surface, bringing her finger away with a fine coating of dust.

         Making a face she turned back to the closet. Taking out her dusting she set to work.

         An hour later she was in need of a strong cup of coffee.

         Coffee in hand she stepped back into the room and smiled. Everything was in it’s rightful place and spotlessly clean. The entire room smelled fresh and new.

         Perfect.

         Taking a sip of coffee her eyes wandered around the now tidy room coming to rest on her computer.

         Feeling charged with creative juices she fairly skipped across the room and plopped herself in the chair. Placing her coffee on top of the coffee ringed, smiley face, coaster she cracked her knuckles and settled in.

         NOTHING! The cavity of her mind was a complete and utter void of emptiness.

         Minutes later Isabelle lifted her head from where she had been thumping it on the keyboard. . . .