These words might be too little, too late.

I have had the worst case of writer's block lately - it's killing me. The worst is that I have a really strong desire to write and then I sit down with my notebook and pen and... nothing. Or I write a bit but I know it's going nowhere so I just have to stop. Writing is what I do, it's all I know. It helps me relieve stress and I can express my feelings on paper much better than face to face with other human beings. I love writing. So you can imagine my distress now, as I sit with my notebook open to my right, staring back at me (literally) blankly. And I bet that when I get to work tonight, the words will start coming to me. Then I'll quickly pull out my Blackberry and open a new note, and type as much as I can between orders - not the most ideal situation, but it happens more often than not. I just don't understand why I can't write now, when I'm home and ready and willing. How am I supposed to produce a best selling novel with this horrid case of writer's block?

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We paid off all of our December bills today (some of them a week or so late, due to Christmas), but at least now we still have the money for the January rent and a little extra to get us through to next pay cheque. I'm feeling pretty good about things right now, though still constantly on edge when I think about everything we have going on in the next 30 days. More than anything, I'd love to fast-forward to Feb. 1st and be all moved into our new place and have things settle down at bit. Or a lot. But since I have yet to master the concept of time-travel (and Henry didn't actually make it sound all that appealing), I will stick to taking this life one day at a time.