Missing Mind

How I recognize writers block

As I approach the door to my imagination, I find a "Sorry, We're Closed. Gone on a Walkabout" sign. I can only hope this means it's on vacation and not a dear John letter. I can't focus. My mind is caught in a labyrinth of endless loops, all leading back to the beginning where the entrance is no longer there. I'm locked inside a body that's old and worn, no longer able to function with any useful outcomes. Blocked by physical pain, weakening both mind and body. I feel trapped, I can hear and see everything around me but can't communicate nor participate. My thoughts are nothing more than the occasional invisible breeze swirling within itself going nowhere. I'm merely a ghost in a self created bubble of depression floating through what time in left of my life. I just want to sleep where I can dream I'm alive. It's my only escape from the regret of having unfinished business I'm still responsible for.

Tonight I had multiple ideas running through my head. I knew I had to get them written down. So, I got my laptop out. It took forever for it to wake up. When I finally got all set up, I stared at a blank page. My ideas were scrambled. Some I couldn't put the words together, others escaped me all together. As a person grows old, the body usually gives up first, but the mind follows shortly after. Being a writer, this sucks.