hyperactive un-productivity

I've always been suspicious of the term "writer's block." It's used so casually in articles and conversations, as if it were an objective condition, a word with steady weight and obvious meaning. But does it mean procrastination, a habit as unwilled and paralyzing as depression? Or, a mind-blankness, bleakness, a dearth of ideas and stories? Or, as is often the case for me, an inability, that can last hours, days, weeks, to piece words into sense-making sentences and paragraphs?
Tomorrow, I have a short film review due. Yesterday, I wrote up an outline that made perfect sense, and the day before yesterday I defended my view of the film to a friend. But today I've forgotten first grade grammar and most of my vocabulary and whatever's left of my style. If you think I'm kidding, I'm really not. Here's one of the discarded first paragraphs I wrote earlier today; it could be the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest's first nonfiction winner:

Critics often accuse postmodern thought of a repetitive and hyperactive un-productivity, too critical to be constructive, and too detached, or delusional, to be useful—like a OCD housewife vacuuming a carpet she’s convinced is a trompe l’oeil painted in dust over a hardwood floor. To a postmodernist, depth is an illusion that always gives way to surface.