One does tend to suffer from the Writer's Block from time to time. Even one as supremely intelligent and cosmically significant as I. And when the Writer's B does come to one as supremely intelligent and cosmically significant as I, it comes in spades.
I made a large cup of steaming hot tea and pondered over my problem between delicate sips of the restorative. Tea normally perks me up and gets those grey, blue and pink cells going. The old mitochondria start pumping away, the dendrites and axons begin to start oiling the old works and within minutes, I am refreshed and full of fresh energy, ideas and enthusiasm.
Alas, but no free flowing prose poured out of my divine fingers this time.
I should change the brand of tea I suppose.
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