Packer’s Block

 November 28, 2023

 

Writer’s block, packer’s or rather a packing block are the same, right? Same but different. The procrastination is the same, sort of, not really. It is funny – that I chose to write a post to overcome packer’s block when I’ve been in a phase of a writer’s block for a couple of months. I have written 20 mins, 5 days a week, at my desk, and at least one longer period in a café every week.  Just to keep the practice — you know like at least do your kata or throw some punches and kicks even when flooded with other things or slightly unwell. Of course, what’s emerged on the page is crap, but the act of watching words in different coloured inks, emerge from different nibs, of different fountain pens, is soothing. 

 

At the writer’s fest this weekend — I allowed that creative procrastination for myself before fully plunging into packing — two friends and I sat at a Starbucks, and had a conversation about our journal writing. They said when they felt bleah… they’d write bleah, bleah, bleah, bleah for lines and lines and even pages and pages. I said, I didn’t do that, but I drew pics of the bleah. A face tearing its hair out, a face crushed in the vice like grip of giant hands, a body drooping almost flat on the floor. My journal is full of these little diagrams. It was lovely meeting those friends I hadn’t seen in months and talking about how we process difficult states on the page. 

 

And then Monday morning, I decided to visit the GP. Overdue blood test and my bladder area had been hurting for a week, maybe two. Urine sample submitted and sachets of some effervescence, alkalinizing, granules collected. Began to feel less sore after just the first sachet. 

 

It was good to get away from the thoughts of packing even though it was merely to the GP who I normally put off visiting. (Oh, I also made that overdue appointment to see the gastro specialist this week, big grin). A humungous eggs and pancakes meal to break the fast, and an hour of writing – mostly rubbish. I didn’t mention packing once. I may have written about Spivak, Winterson, and Sissay (a new find), standouts from the writer’s fest. Maybe some sense in the rubbish then. I may have written about going to Think at Funan (after all it is right opposite the Art’s House) and spending a half hour trying broad nibs at the fountain pen counter. Some joy in the bleah. A pen, and two small bottles of ink came home with me. 

 

Hmm… so after a walk home in the scorching sun, and a cool shower, I fell asleep, waking to see a shadow under the front door. Somebody obviously had left something there. I ignored it and drank another sachet and settled down to read a book, I hadn’t picked up in weeks but was now due at the library — panicking only when the spouse messaged that the mover had left boxes outside! A day earlier then he was supposed to! Oh no! A day too early!!

 

How could he mess me up like this. I was wide awake until 2 am, trying to not think of those yet flat boxes in the living room, with tape and bubble wrap on top of them. They floated in and in and in, especially when I was dozing off. If only they had arrived when they were supposed to, I wouldn't be messed up. 

 

This morning they had to be confronted. Spouse said, we can begin tomorrow. But one, oh let’s do two, had to be unfolded, taped up, and will be filled later today. The top shelf of the bookshelf in my bedroom is a good place to start. If books, only fill half and put lighter stuff on top, the mover had said. So what goes on top? I sit around thinking about it. I drink a second cup of tea. I fill orange sailor shikiori ink, mokusei, in my aubergine slim PG. I test it out and draw flowers all over one page. The inks of course will only be packed on the day before they would be moved. 

 

At my desk I make a grid of dates and times. Then I start making lists. Virgoans manage anxiety through lists. Many non-Virgoans do too. I will eat lunch of-course and make a few more lists. Very detailed and none of those details will happen the way I write them, I know that already, but the list helps anyway. I will throw a few punches and kicks a bit after lunch and then put in at least six books into one box. I have convinced myself that once I start the path will clearly show up. Just like when we write one word, one line, on a blank page, more follow. 

 

My mum has consulted the stars and told us December 7^th is a good day for Graha Pravesh — entering the home. We will take over a set of clothes and something we love (a pen or notebook for me obviously) to leave in the apartment. We will light candles and leave water and something sweet in the kitchen. Walk around smiling at how it has turned out. Only one fight during the renovation — over the colour of paint in the rooms. After twenty-four hours the spouse, his office is only three bus stops away from this new home, will go over and drink the water and eat the sweets. And on December 14^th the movers will empty this apartment on Tanjong Rhu road, that we have lived in for sixteen years, and fill up the other on Depot road. Who knows how long we will live there? 

 

Of course between now and then a zillion things will need to be done to be able to spend the first night there on the 14^th.  Hopefully I will procrastinate less and less and work more on those boxes.