Day 27



The trickling sound of rain against the windowpane celebrates February’s almost end and reminds me I live up North.

Days like these, I don’t like living here.  Working at home should be productive today if the colour of the sky wasn’t grey.

I look at my to do list and I want to run, run, run away from it all.

I’ve had a good rest all of last week, so it’s work time.

Today I will gather phrases and words throughout the day:

Send submissions to publishers; send submissions to magazines, I will write figures in words on cheque books to pay the bills, I will respond to those letters that I’ve threatened with all sorts.  I will respond to them on the phone too.

I will be distracted by songs of birds and I will need food only after I’ve begun to type.  I will watch the kettle boil and burn the toast.  When I  open door, my toes will go from hot to cold as I walk barefoot to pick letters from the letter box. I will hope that the sunshine will come out later and call my name in a loud voice, so I can ignore it and keep typing.  I will make mistakes but I will keep typing. I will ignore the green and red lines that keep underlining  words-they do my head in.

There will be no anger spilled across the pages because I’m not working with anyone else but me.

I will be a real writer today, one who works alone in silence listening the rhythm of the keypad on the computer.

I love Thursdays because I can pretend and do my dream job, only this Thursday I am not sure because it’s end of the month -type- Thursday!

I used to hope one day that someone will pay my bills while I spend the day writing or reading not slouched under the duvet or on the couch with a laptop propped against my thighs, It will be in my study room and I will drink tea, and I will type as the sun begins to rise, and i won’t stop until I have reached a predetermined word count.   I’m not sure if that day will ever come.

I stare at the new book on my bedside table and wonder if the writer was like me.



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