Jawa

There is a bobble-head figurine of a Jawa on my desk. You know what a Jawa is, right? They’re the little guys with the dirty brown cloaks and the shiny yellow eyes from “Star Wars.” Anyway, this guy sits to the immediate right of my laptop and anytime I pause to think on something I’m working on, my eyes are drawn to him.

Due to the rickety nature of my rather cheap desk from Target, when I type it creates a tremor that causes the Jawa’s hooded head to shudder ever so slightly. His amber-tinted eyes catch the light of the desk lamp and provide a surreal, lovely memory of my childhood.

When I look at him, and this is strange but it’s true, I feel sad. I look at all the toys and trinkets that take up residence on my desk – the Creature From the Black Lagoon, Dr. Doom, a small vinyl figurine of Han Solo from the Star Tours gift shop – and I realize that while my imagination is just as fertile and thriving as ever, the rest of me is quite dead and wilting.

My writing has suffered significantly. My passions for just about everything come and go on a moment’s notice. Music doesn’t seem to sound as good anymore. Food doesn’t taste as good. Blotchy burn spots of black disrupt picture-perfect moments of happiness. I walk around my room with nothing to do, yet wanting to do everything.

I want to watch thousands of films, write tons of stories and reviews and scripts and columns but when it comes right down to it – I can’t. I can visualize things in my head but I can’t properly communicate them at all to anyone. I’m stuck here, with thoughts and ideas bouncing around in my brain, and no outlet for them.

I look at the little Jawa and realize I’ve been staring at this screen for an hour and have accomplished nothing. It’s like there’s a restraining bolt on my mind, a tractor beam around my heart that completely prevents me from being able to do anything worthwhile at the moment.

My inspiration is gone. Dreams are slowly slipping into the realm of impossible, and here I am - with the loneliest Jawa in the world.