Observations from my first seven weeks as a full-time freelancer.
The cursor blinked, and Judah said my thing my thing, ran the back hallway fast to the door and bang the door and back again, and I sat. The cursor blinked. And there were words in the book and words in my head and words on the pages before and behind but here on this page no words, on the tips of my fingers, wordless, because my thing my thing, and the feet in the hallway ran back, bang, to the door, and I typed nothing into nothing, because the head words were lost to the finger words in the one more cookie and do I have to finish and give that back and I’m done.
Water ran flushed down the red hallway and Ella said my sock and I left the black cursor blinking, blinking white and blank and pulled the cold sock drip drip from the white pot filthy, and this is my thing, and these are my things, and the words in my head are bang and feet run and dripping socks, but not the right words for the cursor, blinking.
So the cold still dark came first, before the white and the blank and the black cursor blinking, words to fingers through more nursing please and a rattle of bunk beds and six ways to goodnight, and silence, but only a little, and this is my thing as well. The quiet and black cursor blinking and moving to the tap of fingers and their words on a keyboard.