1. an act of blocking.
2. the state of being blocked; an obstructed condition
3.something that blocks; obstruction
Hillywilly’s world had been suffering from blockages.
Some of which have been easier to remove or resolve than others.
We had a lovely day out at a local zoo admiring the monkeys running away from the geese and being bitten by emu’s. The day was only slightly marred by some dipstick parking so close behind me that it was impossible to get out of the parking space, and believe me I tried. Blockage number one was dealt with by retiring to the cafe for an ice cream and waiting for said dipstick (who was, rather fortunately, just there to pick someone up) to come and move his car.
The next set of blockages, although physically much smaller, took slightly longer to sort out. I’m talking noses. Yes the summer is here and we have been full of cold.
Moo had a few nights of vivid nightmares preceding the actual onset of sneezing which had me slightly sleepless and a little concerned. She has the odd 1 or 2 nightmares every now and again, don’t we all, but never normally so obviously frightening or consecutive. I was actually very relieved when it turned out that they were a symptom of impending illness. But then of course we were up a few nights dealing with her coughs splutters and general nose wiping duties. It was a rather forlorn and sleep deprived little voice that uttered ‘Bubby, i’b fed up of by bose being fud of nogies’. A few days later and she was well and truly on the mend and back to sleeping through the night. By then of course it was my turn to have a ‘bose full of nogies’ and more shattered nights.
Now those of you who know me will know how much I adore my sleep, and that I have a slight tendency towards a touch of grumpiness if I don’t feel I have had quite enough, lets just say I think Moo was quite happy go to out school for at least a few mornings that week.
And then, with timing that only fate could have organised, I fell prey to a bout of insomnia. I get them occasionally, and have grown quite used to prowling around in the wee small hours occupying myself with tasks that should probably already have been done (although I draw the line at early morning ironing, you have to stop somewhere). However my occasional nocturnal wakefulness does not usually occur on the back of 2 weeks of already broken nights, and I have spent the last week or so going through the motions of everyday life ensuring that we are fed, watered and the bills have been paid whilst longing to curl up in a duvet and turn the light out for a week,
It was during one of the very long nights I realised I had a problem with another type of blockage.
You see when I cant sleep and the chores have been done, I write. I can happily pass hours typing away, corresponding with friends, scribbling ideas, and sharing my thoughts on this blog. But whilst my nose was now clear, my head and my hands seemed obstructed somehow. I could barely write a sentence, and even then my over critical eye would condemn it to the delete button almost immediately. So I stopped.
It’s not even as though I had nothing to tell, so many things have been happening, I just couldn’t find any words.
I love words, but when I can’t make them say what I want them to say it makes me sad. Lord knows how a real writer copes with these blocks when an amateur scribbler like me feels so bad. So I have been sulking and reading instead, hoping to win back some words form the pens of others. The pile of well thumbed tomes by my bedside is testament to my hunger for words and I think I may just have devoured enough by now to get a taste back.
And whilst I am under no illusion that I’ll be up for a booker prize any time soon, at long last, and with a few nights sleep under my belt, my head and my hands no longer feel impeded and you will once again be subject to my ramblings.