The bird feeders are swaying in the breeze. They have no feathered friends fluttering back and forth because they are empty. No seeds..... like my head...... no thoughts.
My proof reader is not happy with me and sends me short, to the point, messages. Something, anything, please! Sigh.....I'm trying.
The sun has not shown its face for days. It's depressing. Even the weatherman on the late night news was fed up with it. I wonder, if a whole bunch of positive minded people were to decide that at a specific time they would all think thoughts of the clouds dissipating for just one hour, if it would work? We could call them "Cloud Busters". It might work, but I think that there are many more people lamenting about the gloominess of the situation and their thoughts outweigh the positive outcome.
Something odd happened this morning though. One of the main characters of my book, I will refer to him as M.C., showed up. He waltzed into the office, pulled out a folding chair, sat down and announced to me that he was bored.
"Bored?", I asked.
"Yes.", he replied.
"Why?"
"Because, I am tired of playing the same scene over and over again.". He spoke the words slowly, enunciating each word with a slight pause between them. His voice is deep and smooth, the words dripped like molten chocolate.
I glanced at him, trying not to meet his gaze. It didn't work. My eyes locked with his, deep dark pools of liquid midnight. He was wearing his familiar white gauze drawstring pants that rest seductively at his hips and the white gauze shirt that is never buttoned. I knew instantly where he had been, a few grains of sand were still clinging to his feet.
"I know", I said, sighing the same sigh Mother would do when she was bored, the sigh that always drove me crazy. "I've just been so busy and I have so much to do in a short amount of time. The scene isn't that bad, is it?"
"Not at all.", he said and gave me a wicked grin. With that he rose from the chair and descended the basement stairs. I watched him, wondering what he was up to.
It was about this time that I heard the clacking noise. I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see the Voice pass through the living room. The Voice, that lives in my head, has always been my constant companion. It has always carried a pair of large red flags, much like those one would use to land and park a Boeing 747. It uses these flags to warn me of eminent danger. I have spent a great deal of time ignoring the Voice, even when the flags were whirling at maximum velocity.
The Voice was doing the cat walk through the living room. It had watched the Victoria's Secrets fashion show on TV last night. It had found a pair of rarely worn high heeled shoes in my closet, a pair of tattered lace panties and an old push-up bra. As the clacking began to grow louder, I turned my chair to watch as it pranced by. The Voice, like me, has no legs. When the Master of the Universe was handing out legs we thought he said "eggs" and politely said, "No thank you, we will just get ours at the store."
The Voice obviously could not find any wings but had discovered a brightly colored beach towel and had it draped around its shoulders. Since the Voice is quite smitten with M.C., the flags were tucked into each side of the tattered panties. It was quite a site, but then again, not the first time I had seen the Voice doing its own thing.
M.C. emerged from the basement, carrying a china teacup and saucer and headed to the kitchen. The china has been boxed up for years. It is what I like to call 'grocery store china', the kind where for every twenty or so dollars of groceries bought, a stamp was earned. The stamps were placed on a card and when the card was full, it could be redeemed for a place setting of china. I bought a lot of groceries, enough for 12 place settings, along with all the accessories. The china has been used maybe twice.
M.C. returned to the office with a cup of tea and sat down in his chair. "What are you doing?", I asked, trying to look preoccupied.
He chuckled and answered, "Defining my character." I rolled my eyes and acted like I didn't get the gist of his meaning.
M.C. quietly finished his tea, but I could still feel his gaze. He set the empty cup and saucer on my desk and took my hand. I had no choice but to look at him. "I understand, you are busy. These things will all come together. You will meet your deadlines and the stress you unwittingly put upon yourself will be gone." His voice was all but a whisper, but the words were crystal clear. "But, my lady, do not forget your passion."
He kissed the back of my hand and disappeared. The Voice, witnessing the kiss, tripped, fell flat on the floor and the red flags skidded into the kitchen. The brightly colored beach towel splayed across its head.
I think I will go buy some bird seed.
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