I'm finally feeling the intensity of today, now that it is coming to a close.
I did a little business, adding another client to the books.
I wrote five or six articles, surpassing my self-imposed quota.
Read the New York Times, including the Automotive and Style sections--yes, there is a connection between them, as if I need one.
And I'm just about to settle back with a cabernet.
The great news is that I'm writing this piece, having waved off my honey.
She's watching a video by herself.
This is the true test of having overcome my last bout with writer's block.
I'm really tired.
So tired, in fact, that I can't summon the energy to watch TV.
But I'm not too tired to write.
As a matter of fact, writing is the only thing I want to do at this minute.
When you're suffering from a block, you'll happily do anything but write.
TV becomes a must-do activity.
Even cleaning your desk or taking out the trash takes on a special Zen-type of appeal.
But when your block is dashed, done with, kaput, you know it because you just don't care about anything else, including the time of day or night, whether you're keeping others company, and your level of hunger, fatigue, or anything else.
Freedom from writer's block bestows something simple, straightforward, unadorned, and blissful.
At last, you're at peace, doing; not thinking about or worrying about when you're going to do something.
Just doing, and that's just beautiful!