Metal Constipation

For months now my writing output has been, shall we say, almost nonexistent. I even attempted to set self-imposed deadlines to try to spur my creative flow. Yet my imaginative juices, like my urine stream as my prostate enlarges, failed to flow. I was stopped up, blocked, constipated if you will.

Wrestling with this, I walked between the piers at Newport Beach yesterday. Where had the spark gone? Was I tapped out? Where my meds off? Was I not getting enough fiber in my diet?

Midway through my mile and a half walk I noted, with alarm, that lack of fiber was not the issue. My bowels were active and alive, I was concerned.

At this point, regular readers might assume that I concocted an elaborate scheme to discharge waste material without using a proper public restroom facility. That was not to be so. I clinched. I walked (with haste). I relieved myself properly. But, as usual, I digress.

As I walked, I wrestled with the issues of mental blockage as my lower intestinal tract reminded me that this was the only blockage I would ever need to concern myself with. Then it hit. BAM! It was an epitome! (Or is that epiphany? Why is it that I confuse similar sounding words… I believe they are called homo-something words… not unlike my homo-something tendencies… but I digress yet again.

As I walked, an image flashed before me. I was at the airport the day before. As I waited to board my flight I noted a gaggle of business types frantically typing on their laptops as they carried on a hands-free conversation on the Bluetooth-enabled cell phone and scanned the paperwork beside them. For some reason, such people never fail to annoy me. Are they so freakin’ important to the survival of their employers that they must multitask for 15 minutes before they board their flights? Like my 85-year-old mother is fond of saying, they come across as complete “nimrods.” (She actually has a more descriptive term, but it’s not really suitable for a family-oriented blog.)

As I walked, I realized the airport multitaskers annoy me because they remind me of me at my worst. Just the other day I offended a friend as I sat watching TV and typing on my laptop. He was trying to share something of importance as I feigned listening. Apparently one of my courtesy “uh huh’s” of agreement was missed timed. He realized I was faking attentiveness and cut his sharing short.

I am a “tool.” A total and complete tool when I multitask. And the reason is quite simple. While my laptop has a dual-core processor, I was born with a one track mind. We all are. Though I may be able to walk, chew gum and drop kick kittens that cross my path, my mind can only process one thought at a time.

Since October, I have been trying to be Mr. Multitasker. From my PC in Arizona I can be simultaneously logged into three different client sites. I’ve been billing like a madman, yet the quality of my work output has suffered. I’ve been trying to do everything at once and I have fallen short.

As I walked, I realized that I must stop trying to do everything at once. It doesn't work for me. Like a fat lady on an all cheese diet I am blocked up. As I walked, I got clarity. Do one thing at a time and do it well. As soon as I internalized that concept the noise stopped and I got clarity. Through the rest of the day I put this thought into practice. As a result, I was more productive that I had been in months.

So now is my time to write. It is the only thing I am focused on. And the words, like the urine stream of my youth, are flowing. Monday posts are no longer a vague promise. Like genital warts, they will appear like clockwork. This is my vow… I’ll see you next week.

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welcome back