Writer’s block

I’m sitting and staring. At people around me, at the mirror, at the blinding lights passing by through my head, at the empty coffee cup sitting quite smugly on my work desk, at the to-do list…and at the two odd lines my wasted day has meekly offered as an ode to a rather mundane existence I trudged by today. Opening lines have never been so earnest. God help me.

I’m looking for some inspiration, to be able to jot down a thing or two about the evolution of my day, my past week, a significant thought, some memory, some plans, anything…

I do see something though..a seventh line trying very hard to fight for what the first started, something like a good friend doing his job-listening, pretending interest, pretending empathy…fighting just to keep pretending the pretenses…nice…i feel much better now

Perhaps I should go home- procrastinate some…maybe I’d have a better day tomorrow, maybe words will flow, maybe I’ll write a book someday, maybe I’ll help a blind man cross the road, maybe I’ll spill coffee on myself, maybe MS word wouldn’t stare back at me…challenging my intentions

Tomorrow, I will try again..I’ll scratch the surface again and again, till it turns red with vain attempts, and then some good ones..

Just maybe.