Writer’s Block.

I spent the past week wishing I could write something.

Like a cute story that has a lesson wrapped up in the antics of a new puppy, or how the pure and powerful question of a child impacted an unsuspecting adult. Even better, a story about a kid AND a puppy. In denim overalls. Either the kid or the puppy can be wearing the overalls. I really don’t care. Either way it’s gold, man.

Or a story where I play chess with a stoic old man who teaches me life lessons between our moves. Sure, he’s gruff and all, but deep down he’s got a beautiful soul. You know, a real curmudgeon.

Hell, I’d even go for a poem right about now. It doesn’t have to be Laureate-level. I’m talking limericks here. Not everyone is down for a reading of “Kubla Khan,” but we all want to know what happens to that dude from Nantucket.

I’d write about anything, really. Anything other than the teeming truth and relentless reckoning that has been jam packed into this year.

We keep getting reminded of the facts that we hate to face. The good guys are sometimes the bad guys. Innocent lives are lost to the apathy of the powerful. Political parties are doing exactly what the founders said they would, and are ripping the country apart.

But there are other truths. People remembered how to help each other out. More people participated in government than ever before. I learned how to make these incredible peanut butter dark chocolate shortbread cookies.

And there’s art. And each other. And that ne’er-do-well from Nantucket. You won’t BELIEVE what that guy gets into, y’all.