Writer's Block

She sat and stared at her laptop screen, a blank document filling its 15 inches with a glaring pit of emptiness. It was not the first time but, considering how she felt at the moment, it could well be the last. She laid her fingers gingerly on the smooth keys, yearning for inspiration from the delightful sense of accomplishment that filled her upon mere contact; the glorious ease at which they descended into their mechanical underworld, that satisfying, soft thump of key on board. She moved her hands over them, flitting from key to key; a bee sampling nectar from an array of delicious buds; a gourmand at a cheese counter; an artist dipping his brush into a spectrum of infinite possibility. Her shoulders relaxed, her breathing steadied; she smiled. Then, she opened her eyes. The emptiness leaped out once more, sneering monstrously. Time for a break.