Day 4 - No Good

Today’s writing challenge prompt encourages me to write about my writing space. To show, not tell. To use detail. I’m not in a detailed frame of mind today. My mind feels foggy, cloudy, dense, black. I envision a rectangular-shaped concrete block occupies the space where my brain is supposed to be. Today it’s just going to be about logging my 15 minutes of writing. That’s it. That’s all you’ll get. Just my fingers clicking away. Stream-of-consciousness. Crappy crap crap crap. Eleven more minutes. I can hear “Little Guy,” our ancient mantle clock ticking away the time. But his countdown doesn’t matter today because he is 20 minutes behind the times. Tick tock. Tick tock. His breathing is labored, like that of an old man who has spent his life smoking. Little Guy tries his hardest to keep up with “Sligh,” our majestic Grandfather clock, whose pendulum gracefully swings a steady beat. But it's nowhere near a true competition. Any minute now, the cuckoo clock will chime in. The chimney sweep will pop up from the chimney 12 times to record the hour. The wooden German will lift his beer stein 12 times in celebration. But wait. Someone forgot to pull the weights, lower the lever. The cuckoo clock sits silent. Corn cob weights in a clump on the hardwood floor. Six more minutes. Six more minutes. Six more minutes. A perfect writing space. Right now, I can’t imagine ever having one. A place where I can hide out, think, dream. I think I would like the attic room of an old Cape Cod on the coast. Eastern seaboard. Mid-Atlantic. I could peer out the windows, through glass wrinkled with time, and see the ocean. The waves. The rocks. The foam. Take a deep breath and snort the sea air like a dog with its head hanging out the car window. Or perhaps I could lock myself away at the tippy top of a stone tower. Rapunzel. Jo from “Little Women.” A place where it would take people so long to get to me that they wouldn't even bother to try. Ding Ding Ding. Session is over.