The day is gray. The sun is hidden. The air is cold. The trees are bare. No birds can be seen. No squirrels frisk about, and my tidy room is as cheery inside as out.
I don’t want to write or do anything I know I should be doing. I would rather clean my bathroom than do what I need to do. My endless list of 5-minute-to-dos invites me to flee from solid, hard work. With my fingers to the keys, I type away, looking for flutters of inspiration from the recesses of my mind, from the unloosing of the things at the forefront.
In my mind of imagination, I visit a day in the early past when the sun shone; the sky was blue. Squirrel one chased squirrel two and squirrel three brought up the rear. The wind was chilly, but the grass was green, the sun was bright, and the sky was blue.
Stacks upon stacks of linear bricks. Streaks upon streaks of rust on metal. Fog in the sky. Fog in my gears. Perhaps a little free writing is the oil I need. Commitments to something fun in my day are an incentive to cheer up and write.
Cucumbers for lunch perk up my mood. A walk down the street is an appealing invitation. Tidying my desk would increase my concentration. The pile of things out of the corner of my eye makes my list of 5-minute-to-dos endlessly haunting. But I can see my progress on the lines of the page. I can feel my energy rising with each letter.
A mite of dust there. A stray lid, a canceled check, and a pile of clean dishes are so many voices in the back of my head. My laundry in the dryer claims my attention every few minutes. My cold feet wonder why I haven’t stopped to warm them. The fan's white noise does help me stay slightly focused, but it’s motivation I need.
Willpower won’t make my sentences flow smoothly. A pile of mess won’t soothe my mind. A timer won’t keep me from wandering into distractions, because what I needed was a change of mind.
I know what I need to keep on doing what I need to do. A duster, a cup of tea, a little tidying of my untidy desk, and I am off to a better beginning.
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