I wrote this piece as a free flow morning exercise not long before I started Dadding Depressed.
I sit in the darkened living room and ignore the outside world. Birds toss inviting songs through cracks in the fortified home. The sun pokes it’s rays in where it can, tiptoeing, as a playful child tags a sleeping dad. I am burrowed in the thick blankets of introversion nursing my Earl Grey tea. I remain content in the darkness and stubborn in comfort.
I think, perhaps today is the day I will start writing – build a career out of it. I search the attics of my mind for a thought to dust off or an idea to renew. I scavenge the keyboard for the bones of eloquent words and pray for a frankenstein to rise.
But my mind is overwhelmingly cluttered. Or mysteriously empty.
And my fingers are lost on the keys.