(You mean well, but you make this hard on me)
Mike opened his eyes and looked at the next bed over. He frowned slightly when he didn't see Micky sleeping away like usual. But at the same time he was a little glad to be waking up alone for a change. However, he also felt a little odd waking up to see the empty bed on the other side of the room and seeing how it was neatly made. The area of the floor surrounding the bed was also picked up instead of the usual mess that Micky would have left behind. Sharing a room with Davy certainly was very different, but he wasn't sure if it was better or not. Peter had moved upstairs to share the room with Micky while Mike had been moved downstairs to bunk with Davy. This move was a temporary one, but very necessary. It was done so Mike, with his broken leg, wouldn't have to struggle with going up and down the stairs while he was healing.
After having shared a room with Micky for so long, Mike wasn't used to getting up after his roommate. He also wasn't used to not having to straighten the room up after getting out of bed. But he didn't want to get used to this change since he knew it wasn't going to last.
Sitting up, he carefully moved his leg over the edge of the bed. Then, reaching next to him, he grabbed the crutches that were propped up against the wall and used them to help himself up into standing position. While still trying to get used to walking with the crutches, Mike slowly made his way out of the bedroom. He got no further than the living room area when he seemed to be bum-rushed by three people. These three people approached him with all the intentions of helping him, but help wasn't what they wound up providing.
"Alright!" Mike exclaimed, getting them to move away from him. "I think I can handle getting over to the kitchen table by myself. I'm not completely helpless after all."
"Sorry Mike."
"We were only trying to help."
"Of course. We'll leave you alone."
"Thank you." Mike replied "That's all I ask right now. If I really need help with something then I'll let you know."
Mike managed to hobble along on his crutches over to the kitchen table. He then pulled a chair out some and slowly sat down, handing off his crutches to the nearest person. At first he felt a little awkward how he had to sit at the table but he made his adjustments in order to make himself comfortable. Once finally comfortable he picked up the newspaper and began reading it. After a little while he decided that it was time for him to fix himself some breakfast.
"Where are my crutches?" He asked
"What do you need them for?" Asked Micky with a jumpy tone to his voice
"I want to get some breakfast."
"Don't worry about that, Michael." Said Peter "I'll make you breakfast. What do you want?"
"You don't have to do that, Peter. I can do it myself."
"No I insist on making you breakfast. You just sit there and rest."
"But I don't want to sit here and rest."
"Please don't argue over this, Michael. I want to do this for you. Besides, I made breakfast for everyone else today. Now what would you like to eat?"
"Oh. Well I guess I'll just have some bacon and eggs."
"Alright. I'll whip you up some in just a jiffy."
A little reluctantly, Mike sat in his chair at the table and waited as Peter cooked his breakfast. What he didn't realize then was that this wasn't the last of his friends insisting upon helping him that day whether he needed it or not. Every time he needed to get up for whatever reason, he was told to sit down or someone was right there with his crutches, ready to assist him with them. The first couple times this occurred didn't really bother him. The next couple times it began to get on his nerves. Then the next time he was fed up with them because their help was causing him to feel like an invalid. This, he was not going to put up with for much longer.
After part of the day had gone by, his muse had returned to bug him until he agreed to start writing a song. He hobbled over to the writing desk and sat down. Upon sitting down he discovered that he didn't have a pen to write with. As he was going to get back up to get a pen, not to his surprise, one of the other guys was very quick to tell him to sit back down while they got a pen for him. Then he made another discovery that he didn't have any paper. Again he was made to stay seated as someone else got him some paper. He let out a small frustrated sigh after thanking them quietly for the help.
Now it was time for him to begin to write. He turned his attention to the blank piece of paper on the writing desk in front of him. Next he cracked his knuckles and his neck. Then he adjusted and re-adjusted himself in his seat to make sure he was good and comfortable. Lastly he picked up the pen and put it to the paper.
Ok words. Time for you to come out of the pen and go onto the paper.
Mike sat there staring at the blank paper and then at the pen in his hand. He looked at the pen trying to mentally get it to work. But nothing happened. Absolutely nothing came out of the pen and onto the paper.
Why isn't this working? This damn thing must be defective.
A little longer Mike sat there trying to write but with no such luck. The only thing that he wound up putting onto the paper before him was a couple little doodles, his name written a few times in a variety of ways and a ring from the glass he was drinking out of. He could not stand the fact that his muse had pestered him to write up until the moment he actually had a pen in hand and paper before him. This was some sick joke his muse was playing on him. The worst part was, his muse kept insisting that he write a love song. As much as he tried to, he just could not ignore that part.
While picking up his glass he was reminded by the fact that it was empty. As soon as he started to reach for his crutches, he was stopped by one of the other guys.
"Nuh uh! Don't get up. What do you need?"
Mike sighed "I was going to get some more water, Micky."
"I can get that for you. You just stay there."
"Fine. Whatever."
Micky took Mike's glass to the kitchen to fill it up with water. Not two seconds after Micky had sat the water glass down before Mike, Peter came over to him with a small pillow in his hands.
"Here Michael. You really should have your leg propped up while you're sitting there."
Before Mike could say anything in protest, Peter was carefully helping him place his broken leg onto the pillow. Mike never minded a little help here and there before. But now that he had his broken leg he was receiving more help that he ever wanted or needed. It was all help that he did not even ask for. And all this help was only making his writer's block worse. He stared at the piece of paper again and then looked at the other three guys in the room. By this point his frustration level had become pretty high. But he had done real well at keeping it mainly on the inside.
He was being driven crazy by all the help, kindness and the extra large amount of writer's block he was experiencing. Everything he was going through right then while trying to write a new song could not have come at a worse time. Normally he wouldn't let something like a broken leg stop him from writing. And it wouldn't have bothered him if his friends weren't trying to help him so much. At first he was really glad to hear about a band contest like this one they had signed up for. But now he was dreading it because of the task that was still before him. Every time when he wanted to write a song, he had a very easy time with it. He'd often be able to whip out two or three songs in one sitting on his best days. But now that he had to write a song, not one single word was capable of coming out of his head. If he never knew before what having writer's block was like, he certainly knew about it now.
With his pen in his hand he began to scribble on the paper. He knew that as he scribbled all he was doing was wasting ink and paper but he kept doing it because he felt that it was the only thing he could do right then. It was as though his brain was shot. The writer's block had been the one to do the shooting. And to make matters worse, there was a wave of insanity forming just behind the writer's block. Right at this moment he was almost ready to welcome the insanity.
After sitting there for a little while trying not to pay too much attention to the writer's block and the forming insanity, Mike slowly began to see a glimmer of hope through it all. His muse was no longer just pestering him to write a song; it was starting to actually provide him with some inspiration. He almost felt himself smiling as he held the pen in his hand and on top of the clean sheet of paper. There was actually a tune beginning to form in his head as well as some words. This was the moment that he had been waiting for ever since he realized that he needed to write a song. Mike was actually going to start writing.
He felt a small burst of energy as he sat there. This energy was in his brain, pushing and fighting the writer's block out of his head. The inspiration was working hard against the writer's block. Mike felt happier and happier as he knew that the inspiration was working. Although it was working, he still had not written a single word. He looked at the paper and was actually surprised that the paper was still blank. For a second he also looked at his pen and shook it a little in order to loosen up the ink inside of it. But he knew that this wasn't the problem. The problem was, he just wasn't writing anything. He couldn't understand why, but it seemed as though the more he wanted to write as he sat there, the more he was unable to do it.
Mike leaned back in his chair and let out an elongated sigh. It suddenly occurred to him that everything was now oddly quiet around him. He took a good look around the room and saw that he was alone. He also noticed that he needed to refill his glass. The moment that he started to get up was also the moment when the other three guys had decided to enter the room. They were just on time to stop him and they made him sit back down. This caused him to want to throw his crutches at them. His frustration level had finally reached its breaking point. Instead of sitting like he was kindly instructed to do, Mike grabbed his crutches and stood up in a huff.
"That's it!" He exclaimed, catching them off guard. "Enough already! You guys have been treating me like I am helpless! I have a broken leg; I'm not dying. I can get up to get a glass of water, I can cook my own breakfast, I don't want a pillow and I can do anything else to take care of myself! I know you guys are only trying to help and I'd appreciate it more if y'all didn't try to help me so damn much. Now," He picked up his paper and pen. "If you need me I'll be in the bathroom writing. I'm afraid that it's the only place around here where I can get any good thinking done."
Without waiting for reply or any kind of reaction al all, Mike crossed the room on his crutches and went into the bathroom. Once inside he closed and locked the door behind him. Now with the door closed he took a deep breath, letting it all out slowly. For the first time that day he felt relaxed and that he could actually get some work done. He just hoped that it would be worth it all.