Imagine a writer

Imagine a writer. A house full of family. Noise and clutter.

Christmas.

A Samsung fridge starting its engines. Wrooom, the fan grumbles, shedding its ice clumps from the blades.

The coolers are packed, full of the food that typically reside in the fridge.

The mom, hungover on prolific words, trips over them on the way to make coffee.

Fuck, she says to the coolers.

Coffee is good. Hot. Wakes her up.

Words flow through her veins, like the coffee does.

She longs to type what’s on her mind.

She should be making a list.

The coolers are distracting her. So is the man stomping around at the back of the house.

The boy will need an Xray, he states, reminding the mom to start her list.

She has other things on her mind.

Music lovers.

Rope.

But the family is stirring. It’s raining. A dog is coming over. The empty fridge is distracting. Food in coolers need transforming into school lunches.

There is no time for mom’s words today.

Mom is sipping a second coffee dreaming about cabins.

And She Sheds.

Here comes the girl.

There will be no words today. Today, mom is a mom, not a writer.

29 thoughts on “Imagine a writer

  1. AgingGracefully wrote exactly what I was going to say.
    Iā€™m in the next stage now. While I do love my quiet time and uninterrupted thoughts, I fondly remember the chaos of 3 children, 6 sports teams, endless laundry … and wonder if I wished it away.

    Liked by 2 people

      1. I know that, of course I do. I write what’s going on now. I am well aware how it will all be so very different, later. Worried about depression and solitude getting to be too much. But right now? Ugh. I want Santa to bring me some of this elusive balance everyone is talking about…:)

        Liked by 1 person

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