I have Writer’s Block.
Not the faux psychological condition where some fancy author becomes weighted down by the pressure of their own success and suddenly can’t produce the contractually obligated sequel to “Snugglewumps, the Fluffy Bunny, and the Mountain of Treacherous Doom”.
I’m talking about the real disease, the new one. It’s a funny sounding term, I know, but it’s actually an accurate description.
What does it do? Well, that’s a funny story. Imagine taking a small orange in your hand, and then squeezing all the juice out of it, so that it runs all over your hand and your arm, and then makes everything sticky.
Now imagine that your brain is the orange, and that your arm is the body. Instead of the mind controlling the body, the mind is the body, so when you try and move your arm, you might not be moving it because you told it to, but because your essence wants to.
How did I get it? Well, that’s an even funnier story…