Writer’s Blok

Welcome to the dream. Forget your routine. No need to drag yourself to the closet and look for clothes, pack a lunch, rush to make breakfast and brew your coffee. Sleep in – you deserve it. Because you don’t have a commute today – or any day. When you wake up, all you have to put on is that million-dollar smile. Go ahead, it fits you like it should – effortless, inviting and snug. You’re a lucky man. Go look in the mirror – hell, you’ve got the time now. Feel happy. Look happy. You work from home now. You are living the dream.

Summer morning. Tropical air. The salty scent of the Atlantic blowing in the waves on the Southern shore. I arrived when that Florida sun had risen on its podium that Sunday morning, preaching its ochre praise.

I walked upon the shore, and with every bare step, another imprint in the sand, another pebble clenching to the bottom of my foot. I felt the mild chill of the cool clear waters as I slowly crept in, absorbing the initial frigid temperatures.

  After ten years since I’ve been in remission. I wake up one morning let out a stiff yawn, rub the sleep from my eyes, and move my hands through my bedhead and misshapen hair. Strands of hair come undone like stowaways, pretending to hide but point to a security breach.

All I can think is no, no, NO. I’ve already been here. I put in my hours. I’ve done my time. The notion of losing my hair a second time feels like a cruel joke. I forgo any blame to a deity; instead I yell into the void: I put in my time. I sacrificed the locks once before already. I can’t go through this again!

The windows are down, even though it’s painfully humid, Jimi Hendrix’s “All Along the Watchtower” is blasting, and you’re going 55 MPH as you approach a stretch of road where the palm trees wave like fans down a red carpet. You can smell the perfume of the beach nearby. Your breathing grows heavy. Loud. Heavier. Louder. Your hands tense, firmly gripping the steering wheel. Tight. Tighter. Until your hands look like a sculptor’s work. Your right foot weighs the pedal down, until the car is gradually going faster and faster. Until you realize you’re going too fast, too far, too long. Your heart is pounding. Thump, THUMP! Thump, THUMP! THUMP, THUMP! Every beat feels more and more like one punch after another.