It appears the well has run dry …

… at least temporarily.  At least I hope it’s temporary.  I’m referring, of course, to the fact that I’m sitting here, completely uninspired.  Not a thought in my head. I knew it would come to this when the whole week passed without an idea coming to me.  Not even a mediocre idea.  Not that I’d want a mediocre idea.  Not that I’d use a mediocre idea.  But still.

It seemed odd, to be honest, because I’ve been on such a roll lately.  I’ve been struck with new ideas, for new blog posts while I’m writing posts, for God sake.  I’ve had to stop what I was doing, stop writing, just so I could jot down the gist of the  idea, so I’d remember enough of it to get back to it, later.  I’ve had blog posts stock piled, all written, saved and ready to be published in coming weeks.

And now, suddenly, nothing.  N-O-T-H-I-N-G .  Nada.  My mind’s a complete blank.

Well, not totally blank, just as far as ideas go.  With everything going on in the world you’d think I’d have

something to say.  But I don’t.

There’s nothing I’ve read, nothing I’ve watched on TV, nothing I’ve seen on social media, nothing I’ve heard people discussing I feel compelled to add my two cents to.

Shocking.  It’s absolutely shocking.

Guess my brain’s gone on hiatus.  Guess it needs a rest.  Guess it needs some re-charging.

My brain?  Or my imagination?

More likely it’s my imagination.  That’s what I think, anyway.  Care to weigh in?  Whatever it is, it really doesn’t matter.  Not really.  All that matters is, my noggin’s not functioning at full capacity.

If it was writer’s block I wouldn’t have gotten this far with this story.  I’d still be staring at an empty screen.  That I know from having had writer’s block a time or two.  Thank God for that.  Because writer’s block is really scary.  Until you realize it’s not permanent.  Which you can’t do while you’re in panic mode.

No, this is different.

Wonder how long this is gonna last.  I’m curious, is all.

Maybe as soon as I hit “publish” on this post, I’ll feel my pulse start to quicken and my face start to flush.  Excitement will be coursing through my entire body, like blood rushing through an artery.  My breath will catch in my throat.  My eyes will start to roll around in my head.  My ears will start ringing, my palms will get clammy.  My fingertips will tingle. If there was music playing, there’d definitely be a crescendo.  And cymbals crashing.  And sopranos hitting notes so high champagne flutes would shatter into pieces.  Chandeliers would fall from the ceiling, smashing into smithereens.  Drums would roll like thunder.

Oh, and there’d be waves.  There’d have to be waves.  Huge waves, with foaming white crests, waves banging into shore with such force, beach chairs would be overturned and they’d be washed out to sea.  Looking like little tinker toys bouncing around during a computer-generated, make believe storm.  The earth under my feet would begin vibrating. There might even be some sirens blaring.

I’d have to be thrashing around, don’t you think?  Somewhat out of control?  All flailing arms and legs?  You’d certainly think so.

And then, finally, I’d go limp.  I think I’d have to.  Surely I’d be exhausted.  Totally tuckered out.  Wan.  Pale.  Weak.  Damp.  Spent.  Sated.

What was that I had?  An idea?  Or an orgasm?