The Perils of “Writer’s Block”, or The Effects of Lead Poisoning

The title proceeding this train of thought is a slightly misleading one.  I have included the usage of the term “writer’s block” not because of it’s accuracy in describing the phenomenon I will be referring to, but only because it is the most commonly used and understood phrase we employ to indicate this phenomenon which occurs occasionally (one prays, not too often), in the course of an attempt to bring the idea of a piece of writing into fruition.  The phenomenon described as “writer’s block”  is not a “block” per-se, for “blocks” give the semblance that they can be gotten around.  The feeling indicated by the phrase “writer’s block”, however, is a feeling which has no end in sight- one waits in utter hopelessness and devastation, alone, in the dark, nary an inkling as to whether or not the light of the Muses should ever return to them.  But of course, this phrasing is obviously too long, and thus, too impractical to include each time the feeling is to be referenced, and therefore we shall maintain the usage of, despite its misleading nature, the commonly used phrase, “writer’s block” throughout the rest of this piece.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am here to tell you today that many of life’s greatest catastrophes are side effects of writer’s block.  Total life altering events, no short of divorces even, occur out of this wordy impotence.  It is out of this inability to perform at the desk that the writer turns down other channels to making their powers known.  Babies are made.  New girlfriends gotten.  New girlfriends gotten rid of.  Cats adopted.  Cats un-adopted- you get the drift.  

What is to follow is my firsthand account of the damages this plague has incurred upon me.  They are, however, (and thankfully), not nearly as grave as some of those tragedies listed above ( - yet one does wonder whether or not the more subtle, cumulative effects of a lesser infraction ultimately accrues to a greater suffering in the end).  I will proceed to tell you my experience with writer’s block for the purpose that it serve as a warning.  Whenever the sudden urge to do something about a matter fueled by the sudden realization that “a great change is in order!” settles upon the mind, seemingly out of nowhere, almost as if one had been possessed by a demonic spirit of “productivity”, first check to see whether or not it is but the side effect of writer’s block before proceeding further on the wishes of the urge.  

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One perfectly normal, relatively anxiety-free evening, I found myself suddenly engrossed with concerns over lead free and cadmium free dinnerware.  As I was sitting at my beloved’s dining table, I felt a nudge to my brain- the sort of nudge that says, “hey- look at what I just found.  you’ll never believe it.”  I dread such nudges.  I absolutely dread them because I know that they are the beginnings of a journey down some awful rabbit hole- the sort where I emerge on the other side three months later, covered in dirt, clothes torn, hair filled with the homes of critterly critters, and a head full of superfluous knowledge.  

But of course, as it is, every time one is nudged, one can’t never not turn around to look.  And alas, cursed, I turned, and found, the novel thought: Ever wonder how old this cookware is?  I wonder if there is poison in it.

And lo! - the floodgates opened.  

My eyes began scanning over every little crevice of the kitchen.  The decor was decidedly 1950s.  Wallpapered in an orange and green pattern. Warm wood cabinets. An assortment of what’s now considered “vintage” cutting boards and ceramics decorating the space.  The cookware we use at my beloved’s also, has, indeed, been around for many years, and the thought of it was never one which troubled me.  I’ve always held the nostalgic vignetted image of old, loved cookware, the birthplace of many wonderful family meals, passed down through generations of loving hands, preserved further to be passed down to the next.  But now the image held an extra layer: a grey film now presided over the sentimental scene, quickly turning it into one where in the midst of everyone smiling and being sentimental we, along with all the generations that have proceeded my beloved, have been steadily poisoning ourselves.   Of course, the worry couldn’t be contained just to the cookware, it spread out onto the dinnerware as well.  They were all so lovely, and fit so perfectly with the decor of the kitchen… and also fit so perfectly into an era where lead regulations had yet to be put in place.  In truth, many of these dishes were acquired after the 1970s (and many of them likely even more recent than I’d like to admit), but I couldn’t unsee the grey film of lead coated on everything, and so I did the very thing a person of a nervous disposition should never do, but always does: I took to my phone, specifically to the wayward oracle named, Google, and thus began my journey down the rabbit hole of researching toxic metals.  PTFE.  Lead. Cadmium. Aluminum. Leaching. Acidity. And all the rest of the buzzwords which were flying at me like monkeys out of Oz.  My head, within an hour, was filled to the brim with every toxin fetishized in the clean living community/subcategory /cookware/ dinnerware.

It became all I could think about.  All evening, and into the following day, I researched my little thumbs off: furiously opening new tabs, saving links, snapping screenshots, all in the name of saving myself and those I loved from a LIFE OF TOXIN.  It became clear to me early on, that this toxin free life was not going to be an easy one.  Lead could be found possibly, anywhere, and though there are brands which are touted to be 100% lead free, there have been occasions where lead has been purported to register upon impromptu testings (lead by, of course, fellow life- free-of-toxin advocates).  All I wanted to find were some simple pots and pans and plates and French skillets and Dutch ovens and Bavarian gravy boats for my simple life.  I could not understand why it was such a difficult thing to ask for, and it plagued me that every second that passed without my having an answer, was another second a little more lead leached into my system.

I then prayed the answer would appear to me.   Ever since I was a child, I believe I had conceived the nature of heaven and God to be that of ultimate knowledge.   As a first grader, I used to look forward to dying and going to heaven so that I could meet God and ask him  “How many jars of boogers have I picked out of my nose in my life?”(completely neglecting to indicate the ounces of the jars that the boogers should be measured in).  But these days, I’ve moved on from the grander questions of childhood, and ask simpler ones, such as: “Oh my god how many plates have I used in my life with lead and toxic chemicals in them?  How much lead has already passed through my body? How many more times do I need to eat off of these plates before I start to exhibit signs of lead poisoning?  And how many three ounce jars would that amount of lead I have come into contact with throughout my life fill?

Almighty one, could you please spare me and show me the way to the perfect pots and pans and dishes and Bavarian gravy boats so that I can be rid of this demon that possesses me so? 

Amen.”

The Mo and a lead-free pot

Reader, you must be aware that in the midst of this panic, I am not unaware that I am panicking.  I am rather too aware of the insanity, which only perpetuates the panic further, as I berate myself over the fact that I ought to have gained enough sense by now to get over what I am sure is just another neurotic flare up.  So I turn my questioning to something else.  I ask benign questions like: How much English does my cat know?  For that matter, how much CHINESE does my cat know?  How much IN GENERAL does my cat know?  AND HAS HE BEEN PLAYING ME FOR A FOOL ALL ALONG?  More importantly IS THERE LEAD IN HIS FOOD BOWL?  SHOULD I PURCHASE EXPENSIVE LITTLE EMILE HENRY BOWLS FOR HIM? AS WELL? BUT GOOD GOD THEY’RE SO PRICEY!  AM I GOING TO DIE FROM BEING POOR? BEFORE I DIE FROM LEAD POISONING? WAIT, WHAT ARE THE EFFECTS OF LEAD POISONING? AND DO I ALREADY HAVE IT?! HOW MANY OUNCES, AMEN?!  

Naturally, then, I began to look into the effects of lead poisoning, which produced to me this result: Insomnia. Depression. Erratic behavior. Paranoia. Constipation. Nausea. Vomiting. Hyperactivity.  Fatigue. Irritability. Headache. Memory loss.  -Well for goodness sake! Clearly this is me!  Clearly I have lead poisoning!  And yet, this does oddly smack of the general trials of daily living…But wouldn’t it be so nice if I could find that the cause of all the ailments which I thought came standard to existence in general, was actually due to elevated levels of lead in my system, leaching out of dishes I eat off of, and thus removing them from my life once and for all would allow me to finally experience bliss? finally, live a good life after all these years of suffering a substandard lead laden life?  I could be “normal”.  I could finally be me.  I would be free in the truest sense…I swooned over the thought…think of it…free from all the shameful, everyday ailments of the living…

Since the beginning of the frenzy until the moments of writing this, my lead-free life campaign has been the cause of countless fights between my beloved and I, the destruction of countless boxfuls of priceless heirloom china, the demolition of a perfectly quaint and livable kitchen, the unspeakably high cost of putting in a brand new lead-free kitchen, fitted to the brim with toxin free ceramics and cookware and chairs and tables and cabinet handles (and yes, even new toxin free bowls for all the cats too) freeing me finally, from the monster that is lead poisoning.  

Roughly, the cost of this has come out to be too much to calculate, especially when one factors in the damages sustained emotionally between my beloved and I.  (We still live in the same house, but we now take our toxin free meals at different times.)  Nevertheless, the years have gone by.  I have been happy.  I have been free: cooking on beautiful clean pure cookware. Eating on beautiful clean pure dishes. And putting it all into my now beautiful clean pure body.  I was content at last.

…But then…a nudge.  A nudge I so dread to turn around for, but as always, on instinct, I do.  And what I found was nothing but darkness.  Darkness and hopelessness, as I realized that all along, nothing has changed.  I have been, and still am, waiting alone in oblivion, waiting for the light of the Muses to return to me once more.