As I lay in bed, my tangled up headphones and my two perscriptions from Walgreens lay next to me. The medicine is for my tooth that’s awaiting a root canal, followed by another root canal on the side of it, and a bridge in between. The past two days have been hell. Now, I wait…for Tuesday, when I sit in the chair with my headphones, listening to a Stephen King audiobook, as chainsaws and drills fight each other in my mouth.
My room is dimly lit from the lamp and the television. I could hear my brother and his girlfriend cooking downstairs: the fan on the stove is humming, the microwave is beeping, utensils are stirring a pot. I wonder what’s for dinner . . .
Did I forget how to do this, to write. I keep pushing it off as if I’m busy, but have I actually lost the ability to put words together? I guess that’s why we’re here at this very moment, to explore my thoughts as I figure this question out. The excuse of not having anything to write about is getting old: there’s countless of things around me that have stories waiting to be told, and instead of bringing these stories to life, I procrastinate.
With the sound of Fallout 4’s pause menu music in the background, I begin a journey through sentences. This isn’t so hard. It’s the act of starting that’s hard. Once I get going though, words are right there, waiting for me to reach up and grab them from my mind. It’s starting to feel familiar again.
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