Thinking

I’m thinking. At least, I’m supposed to be thinking. Ticks and tocks echo around the room as the frowning wall clock marks off every second I waste. Tick, tick, tick, tick, and I do nothing but think of nothing. I yawn and massage my watery eyes with long slow blinks, tick tick, take a huge swallow of tea, tick tock, stretch my torso as I reach my arms toward the ceiling, tock tock, pull off my glasses and then shove them back on – nothing helps. Tick tock, tock tick. My mind is a barren expanse of white nothing, just like the screen in front of me. Tick tock, tick tock. Writers group is tomorrow, tomorrow!, and still so much nothing. I cross and uncross my feet, tick, wriggle straighter in my hard wooden chair, tock, run my fingers through my disheveled hair, tick tock, prop my elbows on the desk and steeple my fingers, tock tick, all for naught. Tick tock, tick tock. I’m cocooned in an ancient yellow afghan against the drafty old house I call home. Picking off the fuzz balls keeps my fidgeting fingers busy, but it doesn’t put words on the computer screen. Tick tock, tock, tick. I’m still staring at a polar bear lost in a blizzard. Maybe a hundred polar bears are hiding, I don’t know, I can’t see anything but white. Tick tock, tick tock, tick, tick, tick, tick. Strains of trumpet lip flexibility exercises creep under my closed door. My husband is practicing again, the same exercises he’s played for the last 35 years. Tock, tock, tock, tock. It’s the same-old same-old, as uninspiring as the emptiness on the screen in front of me. Tock tock tick, tock tock tick. I pull my hoodie closer around my neck and smell the onions I sautéed for supper. Mmm, food. Tick. No, I must not give in. Food now would just be fattening, and worse, a diversion. Tick tock. No, I must not think about food. But I smell food. I need food. Tick. No, I don’t! I must think! Think, think, think…Tick tock, tock, tick, tick tick tick…

Somewhere in this vast wasteland of 102 black keys is the purpose for which my fingers are supposed to walk, no, click across the keyboard. Click tick click tick, tock tock tock. My job is to find that purpose. Tick tick. But, I know the purpose. My purpose is to become a writer. Tick. But a writer has to have something to write about. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tick tick tick. Like I said, I’m thinking. At least I think I’m thinking – tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock