I wanted to write today.

I wanted to write today. I really did. But every time I picked up a pencil the past few days, I’d put it back down. So today, I taped the pencil to my hand. That way, I had to write. Right? I sat at my desk and stared at the stack of paper in the center. Blank. Empty. It was like a white void was staring back. As my hand reached toward the paper, it paused. There was barely an inch between the paper and my pencil. I was so close. But instead my hand just shook. I couldn’t even put a straight line on the paper, let alone a letter. My arm ached as I forced it onto the desk. Then I took a breath, and put my hand on top of my wrist. Soon, I began to write. At least I thought I did. It took a while to notice the gibberish. I slammed my hand on the desk again. There wasn’t a single letter in sight. Just the shaky line of a scared hand. With a defeated sigh, I took the tape off my hand. Maybe tomorrow, I thought with a frown.