“Umm, what are you doing?”
“I am looking at the wall. Why?”
“Well. First, you are supposed to be writing right now. Second, you are paid to do so. Third, I am your boss and you are supposed to be writing or something everytime your boss comes to see you. You notice? Everybody in this room is writing except you.”
I smirk, then sigh.
“I invoke the writer's block privilege.”
“You invoke what?”
“I have the writer's block,” I said sheepishly.
“Uh – huh. Is it something serious? I mean have you taken your vitamins, eat well, sleep well or take a bath this morning or something? And what's that smirk for?”
“Did.I.smirk? I didn't know I smirk.”
“Well, you've been smirking since I saw you looking at that blank screen.”
“If you say so, then I must be smirking.”
I smile to the boss.
“I was told once that writers are experiencing some hard times when they are said to be on that affliction. And what I see in you is that idiotic smile.”
“I am an idiot then with a smile. And I don't just want to smile or smirk like an idiot, I want to laugh out loud like a real idiot. Because you know what, I just realized that I am now a real writer.”
“How's that so?”
“Well, the obvious thing is, only writers have the writer's block affliction, right? Well, I have it.”
“Uh – huh.”
“Why are you always doing that? I mean that 'uh – huh' thing. You see, I have the writer's block. And I am feeling awesome right now. I am a writer.”
“Uh, back to work. You incorrigible imbecile.”