The FedEx truck pulled into my driveway, and two men struggled to carry an obviously heavy box. I opened the door, and they dropped it on the living room floor with a thud.

“What is it?” I asked, the sound still reverberating.

“Writer’s block, ma’am.” The men wiped their sweating foreheads.

“Wha—a writer’s block? I didn’t order that! Take it back!”

“Sorry, lady. We just deliver ‘em.” With that, the men left.

I stared at the box. A writer’s block—how ridiculous. Kneeling to remove the packaging, I found that I couldn’t budge the thing at all.

Still can’t.

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