Thursday February 27th, 2014

The exercise:

Write about an: intrusion.

I tried to take Max to get his haircut this afternoon but I guess it was a bit too late in the day for him, as he wanted absolutely nothing to do with it. I wasn't interested in forcing the issue, for his and the barber's sake, so we'll try again tomorrow.

If it happens again we'll just have to cut it ourselves while he's sleeping. Should we get to that point, I take no responsibility for how goofy he'll look.

Mine:

An abandoned beach, the sun warming the sand with its rays as it slips toward the horizon. Waves roll gently onto the shore before whispering their unhurried retreat. A bottle of wine in one hand, a wicker picnic basket in the other, heavy with the promise of a long, leisurely dinner.

That report is due on Monday. If they don't like the results heads are going to roll.

Log cabin, a roaring fire in the hearth. Through the windows snow can be seen drifting down to earth between the pines. Nearby an owl calls out. Thick blankets, hot chocolate, bookshelves crowded with the finest works of literature produced in the last five hundred years.

Dad is in the hospital again. The doctors don't sound optimistic.

Perfect silence. A view that reaches for eternity in all directions. Breathe in peace, breathe out stress. Feel at one with the earth beneath my feet. Ponder the vastness of the universe, the meaning of life and death.

Beeping, beeping, beeping. Louder, louder, louder. Groggy fingers fumble for the alarm clock.

I wish reality would stop intruding on my dreams.