I don’t care if the beds are still unmade, if the gas tank in my car is past the three drops remaining mark, or if the only edible thing in my refrigerator is a can of sliced peaches. When I’m writing and on a roll everything else can wait.
Unfortunately, I’m not on a roll, and my bed, car and refrigerator are still in the state I left them.
This last week, I’ve divided my time between staring at a blank page on my computer and staring out my home office window at my neighbors’ goings on.
The UPS man has visited this street three times; one of my neighbors had a barbeque party and did not invite me; several dogs have left souvenirs on my lawn; and now my Type A husband is in the garage prepping the generator in advance of any hurricanes heading our way (not that there are any). And still no inspiration.
Why it is there’s no magic pill for writer’s block?
*sigh*
Suddenly, I remember what will definitely get my 'little gray cells', a la Hercule Poirot, going. A shot, maybe two, of that lethal but pleasurable concoction  that, no doubt, will probably keep me up half the night. But I don't care. Ahh...yes...Cuban coffee. What would I do without it?