Distraction

My jittery legs struggle beneath this blanket. I fidget until I become so tired that I curl up, causing my books to fall from my lap. Getting back in to position, I open up my laptop and begin typing. But after ten minutes, I have deleted more words than added. My mind runs wildly. Procrastination dominates, and I am drawn in my every distraction. This is the feeling of inner turmoil-writer’s turmoil. The wind whistles through the window, but after I shut it, I can still hear the faint roar of cars. The busy street calms for no one. My computer modem grumbles and the ceiling fan whines. Shadows from the trees distract me as they cast themselves across the white curtains, sharing space with random spots of sunlight. I cannot concentrate or think of what to write about it. Due dates run through my mind, and all the other things I could possibly be doing instead. My hair is wispy and untamed; it is bothersome to me. The strands tickle my shoulders, sending chills throughout my body. I pull the blanket up higher but only to expose my feet. I am cold. I sip on a cup of tea and let the hot liquid run down my insides, only to leave me thirsty for something else. I am hot.

I push my books and laptop aside with force, throw the blanket away from me, and scoot the tea to the other end of the table. Shuffling through my IPod, I finally find something perfect. Smooth and crisp, his voice takes over every petty distraction, and I begin to write…