Writing: a lethargy cure?

People tell me to write. So I am making myself do twenty minutes a day.

Making myself- being lethargic by nature- apart from my mind which is a constant whirlwind of nonsense. Lethargic- even this is being written on my phone- too lazy to get out of bed.

It’s 9:52 and I’m on my third cup of coffee already. My thumbs are caffeine loaded, primed for silently tapping out on the dimly lit keyboard. This skill I have just learned- Lily and Sam always laugh at me typing with one finger- like a heron stabbing at his lunch in a pond. Now my thumbs dance as if shadow boxing before a game of thumb wars.

Storm Dennis has arrived, battering the house, he has managed to get in by spewing his rain shower sideways. A great tactic as it finds the cracks in the silicone used to surround the poorly fitted windows. Inside the kitchen the windowsill is being subjected to water torture. Drip drip drip. Thankfully I spotted- or heard the evidence earlier whilst making coffee number one and put up the flood prevention measure ie a bath towel. Job done for now. In the spring I’ll fix the leak- if I can be bothered- see: lethargy lurks already.

Outside the wind and rain are both relentless in their attack. The shed will be getting damp. One of last years storms (no idea which one or what name he or she had- but probably female as it was relentless!) ripped off most of the felt; which reminds me- I must fix that- lethargy.

The garden is under threat. The pond is full to the brim, the sticklebacks will be hiding in the depths from the blitz like bombardment from the heavens. If the lawn could speak it would shout “Help me, I can’t take anymore, I’m drowning!” The trampoline is bouncing, the safety net billowing like a sail. It’s as if the ghosts of all storms past are having a jumping party.

Inside, we are snug. Sheltered by central heating, and a warm bed. Rae has nearly finished her book . I am sure she has slowed down her reading speed to put off getting up. Sherlock is still snoozing at the foot of the bed- occasionally opening one eye to glance at the river of rain running down the window panes. I’m sure he is thinking “I need a wee- but my bladder can wait a bit longer.”

He turns full circle on the bed and resumes his favourite position, curled up in a foetal position with his nose touching his arse.

That’s it- twenty minutes are up. Not a second more. No time left to spell check or punctuate. So all you grammar fiends can have a (soggy) field day. Time for coffee number four- if I can be bothered. Lethargy!

Published by simon

Chief bookworm at Foxed Finds vintage store on Etsy and in situ at The Antique Village near Hele Devon. Traditional angler, terrible surfer and prone to bouts of unprovoked stupidity.

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