The cursor winks innocently at me, patient and giving, appearing and disappearing. It seems to follow the rhythm of my heart, waiting for me to knit something on the clear white screen, but there are no words, none to scribble across it. My gaze is held transfixed by the moving traffic,
why is it so smooth today ?
It is one of those moments when you stare at something without actually sinking it in. It is a mesh, a mesh of varied colors. A yellow taxi, a white Mercedes, a toddler dressed in bright green, Oh, her pram, what is it, deep blue or electric blue ? and the brown exteriors of the mexican restaurant across the road.
My screen-saver comes to life. The waiter brings in my third Lattè, I peel my gaze off the haze, Had I forgot to tell him to put in less milk this time ?, What is wrong with him ? Has mom coaxed him into shoving some milk into my milk-starved system ? The stupid thought took flight as soon as it had landed into the company of the voices in my head.
The voices are growing, maturing with each passing minute. All budding new thoughts are ragged and limped away like lifeless dolls. They're not whispering to each other anymore. They want my attention, each one of them, they're fighting for it, I should really join those power-yoga classes Aunt Maggie suggested to Lenny.
I could feel ice in the air I was inhaling, It was going to snow soon.
Finishing my coffee, I fold my laptop, gather my thick-rimmed over-sized glasses from the top of my head, give my eyes a little cover, hug my neck with my peach silk scarf, straighten my dress, run a finger through my curls and head towards home.
There are days in every writer's cave when words are just not ready to fall in place, with their pen poised in the air, mind set into motion, no thought overcome those dominant voices and succeed in materializing themselves into ink.
This is one of those days for an amateur like me and I'm not liking it.