The Makings of a Mental Block

The Makings of a Mental Block



Hummin': Kulang na Kulang by Joy and Bevs

The sweltering heat of the upcoming dog days is already letting its presence known. Beads of sweat form on my sensitive nose every minute, even with the aircon blasting warm winds. My wet hair from a recent cold shower drips water down my back, seeping into my old, oversized, green shirt.

I rest my fingers on the keyboard, wondering which one of my mangled thoughts should first be released onto the screen.

My brain elves frantically sort through the rubbish that fills my head, rummaging for anything of worth. They work long hours, you know. Never stopping, never getting more than half-way through before another load comes crashing down on my already mountainous clutter of thoughts.

Imagine Payatas, Smokey Mountain...but worse.

Finally, a little one screams in victory, waving a piece of paper in the air. Another elf, svelte and fast, grabs the paper, jumps through the other piles of mess and reaches the massive network of computers. He hands the paper to an old, tubby, elf with glasses who then starts feeding it into the computer.

Half-way through, the paper crumples, indicating a jam in the feeder. The elder elf places his mouth over the speaker on the desk and says, "Code Red. I repeat, we have a Code Red."

A half dozen other elves come running from all directions and try to pull the paper off of the feeder. Together, they form a line, each one pulling the other, hoping that combined strength will get the paper out. But before they could say, "on the count of three..." the machine finally manage to suck in the crumpled paper.

For a second, my fingers itch to start their daily jogging routine, but then, the urge fades away just as fast. My brain registers a blank.

The elves cut their celebration short. Even before they could complete a quick "hip, hip, hurray" for a job well done, the machine does a quick "bleep," wheezes, gasps and chokes, regurgitating a thousand pieces of what could've been an inspirational masterpiece.

And again, I rest my fingers on the keyboard, wondering which one of my mangled thoughts should first be released onto the screen.