Blink

The little black cursor line blinks at me; the white page mocks me with its silence.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

I close my eyes and breathe, parsing through the past week and trying to remember one moment or other that stands out.  Nothing.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

The fire in the wood stove crackles contentedly, the belly of the stove casts a comforting orange glow.  The dog sighs.

I absentmindedly reach down and scratch her head, thinking over the vet's words on Saturday: She's an old dog. We see problems in her blood work.  Maybe there are things we can do, likely expensive things, but like I said she's an old dog.  So it's up to you.

She flicks her eyes up at me with a grateful look and I marvel for the millionth time over her long white lashes.  Twelve years old.  She's slower moving around, now, but not in pain.  I'll enjoy the time I have with her while she's here, this fluffy white companion who has been with me longer than my children.

The phone rings, and my heart sinks. I don't want to talk to anyone, but realize it might be the school calling, so I reluctantly unfold my body from the soft warmth of my writing chair and pad over to the phone.  Unknown caller.  I use the interruption to top off my coffee cup and cradle my hands around the mug as I make my way back to the chair.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

My email pings and I resist the urge to check.  Whatever it is can wait. I feel an aching in my gut, the source of which I can't quite pinpoint.

I think of the text, about a friend whose cancer has spread.  My mind wanders to my own near future, the series of check-ups I have scheduled over the coming weeks, and I feel a twinge of fear, then guilt, for converting my worries for her into unfounded worries for myself.

My phone beeps.  A text.  Perhaps I'm late for something. Maybe that's the source of the vague sense of uneasiness I feel.

I smile, remembering a phone call with a friend yesterday.  We laughed good naturedly at our futile attempts to figure out the complexities of life, choice and time.  We're either really dumb or really wise, we said.  Or maybe we're wise because we figured out that we know exactly nothing. 

The clock ticks, its steady cadence propelling me towards the next thing, whatever that will be.

The fire crackles, the dog sighs and I sit.

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This post is part of Heather's free-writing link-up, Just Write.  Read the details of how to join by clicking here.