I wonder why
they call it the writer’s block. It’s not like a part of your brain’s being clogged
with last night’s pasta or anything. You’re just being plain lazy. And when
your friend living 701 kilometers away asks you to write something, even the
most mundane things, like that frayed piece of thread from my skirt hanging
below my ankle right now, seems extraordinarily interesting. Anyway, coming to
the point. The article. Amethyst’s been bugging me day in, and day out, to do
something productive. Before I could think of a witty retort, as to why I am
unable to produce an article so interesting, so engaging that she’ll begin
respecting me more, she flies off to some Godforsaken place filled with tigers,
‘faaaaaar from civilization’, as she puts it. Meanwhile, I’m fighting the urge
to stop eating all the baked goodies I’m making for this new-year’s get
together. Bingeing, they call it. I can’t explain why, but no amount of sugar
rush seems to help these days.
