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TUESDAY. 1:20PM. That particular Manila afternoon was killing me. The rainy season was supposed to have begun a few weeks ago but there I was, sweltering in my room and cursing for all I was worth because the damn freaking weather wasn't helping me write something on the blank MS Word page. The heat was unbearable and it was eating up what little stored energy I had. It didn't help that my PC was also having one of its seizures---restarting itself even if I was in the middle of a program.
Banging the mouse forcefully on the table, I got up, strode to where the air-con unit was installed, and turned it to full blast. I decided to discard my t-shirt, throwing it to the corner where the laundry basket was placed. I missed my mark, the sweat-stained shirt ending up lying rumpled on the floor. I would have wanted to take off my blue jersey shorts too but thought it awkward and downright disturbing to be writing with nothing but my briefs on.
I went back to sitting on the swivel chair in front of my PC, my sweaty fingers poised on the keyboard, ready for that moment when the creative juice starts flowing again. But nothing. Nada. Nein. Not a single drop of the wished-for precious juice.
“It's this damn effing weather!” I cursed, blaming it for my misery. Feeling totally frustrated, I turned the PC off. Or, to be more exact, the PC turned itself off.
Looking back, I know, deep within me, that the problem lies on my frequent lack of desire to fully commit myself to the task at hand. I have always been a little guilty of procrastination when it comes to writing. My dozen unfinished stories left moldering in my PC's My Documents folder testify to this fact. But just like what any sane and rational person would do, I blamed my inefficacy on something else.
I pushed myself away from the table, irreverently straightened my feet on top of it and sort of reclined my back on the swivel chair. Then, closing my eyes, I tried to shut down all intervening thoughts except for one cuddly little scene: me writing non-stop with that Cheshire cat smile plastered on my smug face. But in this time of need, that writing technique wasn't helping me at all. I couldn't focus mentally. My mind was so distracted; and not just by the weather. All I could discern were fragmentary thoughts, snippets of overheard conversations and mental images ranging from a black chrome Sony Vaio laptop I saw displayed in PC Hub, to a sexy, bikini-clad woman dancing to the tune of Careless Whisper, et-so-distracting-cetera. Specially the last one.
I let out a long sigh. I just resigned myself to another day of fruitless endeavor and focused instead on savoring what little cold came out of the groaning air-con. Besides, my mind was now pleasantly preoccupied with something else. Not the writing technique. And not the Sony Vaio either.
****
"Bloody weather you have here, no? "
I had been dozing on and off for about a half hour or so when I heard the voice. I felt irritated, not without a just cause. The voice had just interrupted one of the most titillating dreams I've ever had in years. Thinking it was just my conscience trying to stop me from pursuing a stream of guilt-ridden thoughts, I tried to brush it off my mind and decided to continue dreaming the dream from where it left off. Guilty pleasures are rather hard to fend off, I realized.
But something didn't feel right. As far as I knew, conscience doesn’t have a British accent . . . at least, not if you're a Filipino. And this one had!
My curiosity now aroused, I forcefully opened my eyes. Then, I lifted my feet off the table and planted them softly on the floor in one fluid motion. I sat erect, my back firmly rested on the swivel chair. My eyes scanned the room in one sweep, trying to place the voice on something tangible. Feeling a bit foolish for even thinking that somebody else might be in the room, I laid my gaze back on the PC lying dormant in front of me. The soft hum of the air-con and the gentle slaps of chilly air on my cheeks were lulling me again to the realms of sleep, back to the joyous, rhythm-filled realm of a beautiful bikini-clad woman sensuously dancing.
I was about to doze off again when a small flurry of movement on the keyboard caught my sleepy eye. I thought I saw a grayish thing move. To afford me a better view, I leaned my body closer to the table, clutching the chair's armrests for support.
I almost died of shock when I saw THE THING squatting snugly on the small space between the ESCAPE and F1 keys of my computer keyboard.
~tbc
2nd part: http://www.youngwriterssociety.com/topic69863.html
