Speechless in Jersey

I found out a couple days ago that I'm giving a speech about my grandmother at her funeral in Boston on Monday morning.

Would you believe that a guy who gets paid to write for a living has nothing but a blank computer screen? Yeah. I've got writer's block to the "Nth" degree and I can't seem to shake myself out of it.

Usually a shower, a meal or a good night's sleep would get the creative juices flowing but those traditional tactics are null and void this time. I may just wing it. I've never been afraid of deadline pressure, in fact, I live for it. However, this time I think I'm up against the greatest challenge of my professional career and I'm not getting paid for this assignment.

This one is on the house and I can't even tell you what I'll be serving. I might get up at the podium at the church and say nothing at all. It could be all tears and not one utterance from my trembling lips. I might get up at the podium and say the most poetic thing that my mind has ever created and subsequently instructed my lips to say.

It is hard to predict what I'll be like before I get on the microphone.

It is even harder to forecast what I'll say/do when the floor belongs to me.

It is probably impossible to gauge what I'll even feel like when I hand the microphone off and take my seat.