My Photo Op Addiction

 

Most days I slip behind the wheel at 9:30 a.m. and head to work, long after rush hour has lost its zip. During my twenty-minute drive, I usually spot a photo op or two. Yesterday, there were five, Yes, FIVE! Just five minutes into the trip. Kind of ironic, I know.

9:35 – Photo Op #1

On the dashboard, the song, “Fruitcakes,” suddenly appeared on the screen. I wanted to take the shot … had to take the shot, but the adult in my head said, “No! Don’t do it!”

“But, but … It’s a funny picture.”

“If you take it, you’ll be late!”

“You’re right,” I said, as sweat dripped down my face; I white-knuckled the wheel and continued on my way. All the while, “Fruitcakes” stared at me from the dashboard and then disappeared a few minutes later.

My adult high-fived me. Somehow I found that elusive, fly-by-night trait, known as self-control, and didn’t give in to a quick photo op fix.

But my Zen moment didn’t last long.

I was tested again at a four-way stop.

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Don’t Be A Writer’s Blockhead!

 

Type Until You Write!

 

Bleh!

Burble!

Blurg!

No words … Nothing!

Writer's BlockheadI don’t know why I can’t write. I’ve got a head full of ideas. They trample each other on their way to the processing center of my brain. Few make it there alive. Some are captured and locked away in the file dungeon on my desktop.

“How ‘bout a post about . . . Yeah, that could work,” I mutter to Microsoft Word.

He dismisses me and hits the delete key.

“That’s great,” is what he types then adds “sarcastically” in all caps.

“Great for my ego. Thanks!”

Then Microsoft Word crashes before I save half the sentence that trails off into empty spaces on the page.

Maybe I shouldn’t revive the draft. It’s more dead than it is alive, attached to the faux paper screen that stands vertically, rather than horizontally – the correct position for a piece of paper.

“Forget you!”

I click on the Google Chrome icon on my computer, instead, and get lost in a virtual html storm. One site and then another gets stuffed into history along with cookies and spam. Snacks for the weary cyberspace traveler, bleary eyed in an awake REM daydream.

Flitting around in an intangible world that floats above earth like a balloon caught in a jet stream tantrum, courtesy of El Nino and La Nina, Mother Nature’s bratty kids.

For Christ sake, discipline them! Don’t scream “Shut up!” at them in a thunderous clap, then enable their bad behavior by rewarding them with a whirly ride in a hurricane.

Give them a time out. Stick them in a corner of California. The west coast is dry and lacks an invigorating tropical punch.

Denying them treats will temper their bad weather pattern that produces stormy outbursts consistent with the terrible two ninos.

Otherwise, a desktop, weather drama queen will popup from your taskbar and scream, “Hurricane alert! Shut down your computer and hide under your desk. Don’t worry about that half-assed draft lying in a coma. The words sound like gibberish anyway, but in fact may be Yiddish, because your words “are goat droppings” or as my people say, “bupkes.”

 What’s your cure for writer’s block?