The dim light from the 40 watt bulb in the overhead lamp is distracting. Its too dark, yet anything stronger would be too bright. I could adjust the lamp, but I need to finish this short story.
The clock is against me.
If I start writing something, maybe the floodgates will open. Good, good. I started to write. "Waiting for the break of day, ..."
The clock is against me. I can hear it ticking. Its even a digital clock.
Its too warm in here. Or its too cold. One way and the other, no matter how I adjust the temperature, it is one or the other. My left foot starts to tap anxiously against the hardwood floors. The sound echoes through the otherwise empty room.
Its late. I need sleep. Giving up, I close my eyes.
|< Baby steps | BBC White season: 'Rivers of Blood' >|