A package at the door.

Oh weaver of fate, why do you taunt me so? Here I hold my dreams out in the open for all to see. Why do you not let them become a reality? I am taunted and tormented day in and day out, my works are read. I am taking the steps needed, yet that dream is still a dream. My hand tapping, rapping against this chair where I sit in front of this dreadful screen.

A blank cursor blinking in front of my brain, it’s not as though I have no new thoughts. I have to many, how I wish there was a file clerk, to sort trough this tower of ideas, growing ever higher in my brain. I am afraid they will topple and send me to the house of the insane. A knock on a distant door brings me from this trance, down those carpet stairs to whomever is knocking on that door.

I peer through the peephole, only to see a small brown box sitting outside. Oh the scary ideas that cross my brain, what is in this box, I know the answer. I did order it from the web.

I open the door and the cool autumn breeze and soft glow of the sun brings back to my breath. I feel the air coursing through my body, the tower of ideas becomes a distant form. I step outside onto the gravel sidewalk, and pick up that brown box. I take in all I can see and feel one last time, before climbing those carpet stairs, to return that blank screen, my own canvas. As I pause at the door to my study I see once more the five things I am currently focused on! My body feels with a sense of peace, my focus returned. I open those dark cotton curtains, allowing light to flood my study once more. I chuckle at how long ago that sense of anguish filled my head, now there is space. Space for what? To fill the canvas in front of me, that beautifully blank screen, waiting to be filled with my creativity.

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