Sunday, December 12, 2010

Work in Progress

Her fingers rested for minutes on home row while she closed her eyes, trying to imagine what she might write. Too many objects cluttered her desk: a mug of cold coffee, a glass of day-old water, mail piled up throughout the week, the Oxford Dictionary of Current English. One articulate line and she could finally move her fingers, but her mind wandered, and every thought was fragmented by the interruption of others. Her body remained still, too still, she thought. She opened her eyes, stood up, reached her small hands above her head to stretch her fingers, her wrists, her shoulders, arching her back, feeling the tension in her muscles loosen. When she heard the buzz from the dryer in the basement, one floor below her, she said, "Thank God," happily taken away from the glaring computer screen to a more physical task.