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Writer’s Block


Pam Ward

Humor Columnist

  Usually as soon as I sit down at the keyboard, the words begin to magically fly like wildfire from my fingers onto the cyber page and in no time I’ve completed that week’s literary masterpiece. Usually. So last night as I settled in with my coke and Hershey’s bar the size of a license plate I expected things to proceed as normal. However, within five minutes I realized that was not to be the case. My sleep deficit that had been building over the past week decided it wanted to collect and very quickly just keeping my eyes open became like a form of Chinese water torture.

  Before the first paragraph, my eyes were closing and I was listing to the left like the Titanic taking on water. Not to mention, I was bent sideways in the chair with my head nearly resting on the end table next to me. Missy Peepers had been sleeping there and when my eyes popped open her face was about 2 inches from mine. Which was a bit disconcerting. Anyway, I decided maybe my blood sugar was low so I procured from the fridge a nice bowl of leftover Velveeta Helper. Nothing like a little starch and grease to get one’s creative juices flowing and since I’m a master multi-tasker I can eat and type at the same time. (Actually, I’m able to eat and do most anything at the same time. It’s one of the many talents and abilities the good Lord has blessed me with and is even included on my resume.)  Anyway, things were going smoothly until I was once again listing to the left and next thing I knew my Velveeta Helper was on the floor. *SIGH* after cleaning VH out of the carpet (with Layla and Missy Peepers helping...) I was wide-awake, and disgusted. That was the last of the Velveeta Helper. *SIGH AGAIN* At that point I decided to get back to my writing. All was well until the second paragraph when suddenly I flopped over again and knocked my coke off sending it spewing up all over the desk and wall. Alas, half a roll of Brawny and some 409 later and I was back in business. (No help from Layla and Missy P that time...)

  Lucky for me I had one last coke in a bottle I’d hidden from Anna in the crisper drawer of the fridge. I mention it was a Coke in a bottle because unbeknownst to me after that first frosty and delicious sip I did not screw the cap back on properly.  Then, faster than you can say “narcolepsy,” my head bobbed over once again causing my elbow to hit that coke sending it spewing out all around the not-properly-closed cap.

   Right about now ya’ll are probably thinking “so what Pammy?”  Alas, there is a lesson to be learned from all this mayhem and here it is. If one decides to eat leftover Velveeta Helper while working on a literary masterpiece, one may want to drink water. It’s easier to clean off the ceiling. And the wall... And the carpeting.


  Since this article has come out, Pam’s spilling has gotten worse. So bad, in fact, that she is legally required to have a haz-mat team on hand before she can put finger to keyboard.


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