My Brain Has a Jammed Caps Lock

DEAR READER,
I AM WRITING THIS IN THE HOPES THAT YOU WILL UNDERSTAND THE PLIGHT OF A MAN WHOSE BRAIN HAS, QUITE LITERALLY, JAMMED ITS CAPS LOCK. IT HAPPENED SUDDENLY, LIKE A SNEEZE IN A LIBRARY OR A HIPPOPOTAMUS IN A TEACUP.

I sat down to write, armed with a cup of tea (milk, sugar, two biscuits, one of which was already half-eaten), when suddenly—bam!—every thought in my head started shouting.
“WRITE!”
“CREATE!”
“USE MORE EXCLAMATION MARKS!!!”
It was as if my inner monologue had been possessed by a cheerleader with a megaphone.

I tried to type gently, hoping to calm the caps lock, but the words came out like this:
“THE MOON IS MADE OF CHEESE!”
“THE ELEPHANTS ARE DANCING THE CHARLESTON!”
“WHY IS THERE A FISH IN MY SLIPPERS?”

And then—nothing.
silence.
My brain, having exhausted its supply of capital letters, sat down in a corner and refused to come out. it was like trying to coax a snail out of its shell with the promise of a tax refund.

I stared at the blinking cursor. it mocked me.
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
I wondered if it was trying to communicate in morse code. (it wasn’t.)

Suddenly, enthusiasm returned!
I HAD IDEAS!
I HAD ENERGY!
I had—oh, wait, it’s gone again.

Such is the life of a writer with a jammed caps lock brain: one moment, you’re shouting at the universe; the next, you’re hiding under the table with a teapot for company.

If you, too, suffer from this condition, take heart. someday, the caps lock will unjam itself, and you’ll return to the gentle, lowercase whisper of inspiration. until then,
keep shouting.
IT’S SURPRISINGLY LIBERATING.