What do I write about? My mind races, but does not even know the directions to the finish line.
My foray into the world of writing had just begun. My first weekly challenge writing entry had just been posted and was still in the judging phase. The topic for the new week was sickeningly simple, yet no story to illustrate the topic formed in my mind.
A soft drink will help. When in doubt, throw caffeine at the capillaries and see what develops.
There are no cold cans. Darn. I can’t stand drinking a diet cola from a glass with ice. The ice melts and waters down the soda, and makes me mad. Mad is not what I need right now. Inspiration. That’s what I need.
Rising slowly to allow the impression of being deep in thought to exude to my family, I retrieve three sodas from the box in the pantry.
One in the freezer, two in the ‘fridge for another day. I hate not having a cold drink waiting, so this way I only get mad every third day. I set the timer for forty-five minutes to allow for optimum cooling without fully reaching the freezing stage. When you open one that is partially frozen, the unfrozen portion tries to escape the iced portion. While it is escaping, it finds its way onto the table and then my pants. Since that might make me (and my wife) mad, I try to avoid letting it freeze.
I return to sit in front of the computer, thinking how nice it will be when I get my cold drink and my capillaries expand. I look forward to the ideas that will come rushing in, like friends you haven’t seen for a few years that stop by for a couple of hours but make it clear they won’t be trying to stay for the weekend in your spare bedroom which still has the bed covered with boxes from the last time you decided to try to clean the room.
Twenty more minutes. OK, I’ll check email and then I’ll see if anyone commented on last week’s challenge entry.
Nineteen more minutes. Hmmm . . . let’s see . . . oh! I know! Go look in the prayer request forum and make a few comments!
Five more minutes. Darn! This is taking too long! I think forty minutes is sufficient. I’ll turn off the timer and get the drink.
Snap! Glug! Ahhhhhh!
Come on capillaries—fire away! I get the word processor loaded, type in the topic for the week, and poise the fingers expectantly over the keyboard.
A few keystrokes and a few backspaces later, the topic and the paragraph marks are the only things staring at me from the page.
What’s on TV? I’m ready to give up but keep the master plan active—while my body vegetates, some cerebral activity may occur in background mode.
After an hour of watching nothing, I return to the keyboard, hoping that some of the capillaries are still in working order.
Bang? My wife hollers from the kitchen, “What was that?”
“Oh, did you hear that, too? I don’t know; what was it?”
“It came from the freezer!” She yanks open the door and is greeted by the sight of frozen cola all over the wall of the freezer and mixed in with both the icemaker and the ice cubes.
“Who left their drink in the freezer?” She asks me, apparently specifically.
“There’s the one I had.” I point to the carcass still sitting on the desk.
“Did someone else put one in too?” No one answer’s my wife’s question.
I explain to her that I had one in the freezer and two in the refrigerator, as usual. To prove it, I open the refrigerator door and proudly display the . . ..
“Oh.” There was only one in there. “I guess when I shut the timer off, I must have grabbed one from the ‘fridge instead of the freezer.” My tone betrayed my guilt.
At this point in many families there would be no end of shouting, stomping, and name calling, along with “clean it up right now, mister.”
My wife didn’t blink an eye. She just laughed and said, “Oh well, I’ve been needing to clean the freezer anyway. This will give me a good excuse.”
I probably don’t have to tell you that my inspiration does not come from the effect the cola has on my capillaries—it comes from my blessed wife. Thank you, dear!
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