Entwined in an entrapment of gloom, depression sinks its sharp claws into Audrina as she slowly sips her hot cup of coffee and stares out of the dining room window. The rain pattered on the window before her like the troubles beat upon her very soul.
“I’m hungry,” squealed her three year old grand daughter. A chorus of echoes from her five year old daughter and two year old grand son followed. Audrina rubbed her bleary eyes, as she creaked off of the hard carpeted floor.
Out of my dining room window sits ‘our field’. We call it our field when we tell the kids, “look at the deer in our field,” or “check out those turkey in our field.” It is not really our field though, but our neighbors. I’m sure they don’t mind our possessive admiration of their field though.
A cough tickles in her throat as she sips her warm coffee in a desperate attempt to make the nagging cough disappear. Lighting a cigarette in hopes that it will miraculously cure her of this ailment too, as it lies to her about curing all the others. Gagging, it is quickly stubbed out. Desperate for nicotine, but unable to fill her desire for it, she turns her attention to the page set before her.
I struggle to write lately. Every morning I sit down and type and type and type. Before it gets to the end though, I crumple it up and toss it in the drafts folder. The problem is, everything just seems so whiny, bitchy, moany. Who wants to listen to a bunch of whiny, bitchy, moany talk?
A twisted tale of twirling thoughts that are tumbling out of my mind.
Careful, I close my laptop.