I don’t know why it’s called a block.  A block would mean you were well on your way then suddenly were stopped, unable to move on.  Even when you turn down the wrong street, when you find yourself at the dead end of a chain-link fence or a road that turns to sand, you are somewhere.  It’s just not where you expected to be.

Every day I’ve tried to pick back up throwing words on to my tablet PC. And every day I’ve deleted my words not wanting to see how I was feeling in black and white. 

When I finally arrive, in a lighter place and smiling in a crowded bar I’m always surprised by how ordinary I feel on the outside: the same expensive jeans and Arden B top as the next girl. I could be any girl lost in the crowd.  Does normal have visiting hours?  Some days, I feel I should have called in advance to make a reservation while others I’m okay with blending.

Today…isn’t one of those days.

MWAH!