White space fills my computer screen; a lone black line blinks at me. I stare at it and find that I am memorized by its constant, steady rhythm and jealous of its persistence; if I could only be as dependable, I tell myself.
I continue to watch this lone black blinking line on the even lonelier white space before me. Where do I begin? What is it I want to say? I rise to get another cup of tea; maybe the ideas will come to me on my way to the kitchen. I take my time preparing the tea; I prefer coffee but Iím trying to quit. Thatís it, I could write about the trials and tribulations of quitting the dark, steaming brew that I so enjoy. Yes, I could compare it to quitting . . . .
Nah, that wonít work.
I walk back into my office and plop discouragingly onto my chair. I look at my computer screen and stare once again at the memorizing, yet not too thought provoking, blinking in front of me.
Blink . . . Blink . . . Blink . . . Searching for ideas, awaiting response.
Think . . . Think . . . Think . . . Incoming thought. I start to type and now the white space is dotted with lines and arches that make up words. Look two whole paragraphs!
Now what? I continue to stare at the screen. Suddenly my fingers take on flight and I am keeping up with the blinking line and filling in the white space. It is a mad dash to the finish line but, no matter how hard I try I cannot keep up with the blinking line. It seems to alway be one step ahead of me! As the race comes to an end I have another two paragraphs. I take a moment and read what is on the screen.
Blink . . . Blink . . . Blink . . .
Nah that won't work!
I hit the backspace key and all the lines and arches are gone. Once again, I am looking at a blank white screen, except for of course, that annoying blinking.
Blink . . . Blink . . . Blink . . . Please insert a Bible verse. Thatís it Iíll start off with a Bible verse and go from there. Letís see which one I should use. I get my Bible and pray for the Lord to lead me to a specific verse that I can use. We decide on Psalm 7:31.
Now I am ready to go. Letís see where shall I start, hum . . . on thatís it. I sit up and lean towards my computer. I intertwine my finger and move them back and forth, like a pianist getting ready to play his composition, I am ready to create my own masterpiece, as I flip my hair to one side I place my fingers gently on the keyboard.
Blink . . . Blink . . . Blink . . . I begin with my opening, ďTrusting in the Lord . . .
Think . . . Think . . . Think . . . takes a lot of work.Ē
Blink . . . Blink . . . Blink . . . Ok, that it for today!
I turn off my computer and walk back into the kitchen. Staring at the clock, I see the small black hand moving around the white background.
Tick . . . Tick . . . Tick . . .
Wow, I can hardly believe how the time flew by; itís been hours since I sat down to write. Looking around the kitchen, I realize I was so busy writing that I never planned anything for dinner.
Tick . . . Tick . . . Tick . . . . I stare at the clock once more and find that I am memorized by its constant, steady rhythm and jealous of its persistence; if I could only be as dependable, I tell myself.
Think . . . Think . . . Think . . . Meatloaf, I decide . . .
Tick . . . Tick . . . Tick . . . .
Nah that wonít work!
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