Cynthia stared at the clock's numbered face. 4:30. She had half an hour to kill. No one was in the office. She had no work to do. No one to call. Cynthia watched as the second hand moved swiftly past the 9, the 10, the 11. Another minute gone.Motionless, Cynthia's mind worked at the problem: what was she doing with her time? At 28 years of age, 6 years of part-time college and 10 years of various full-time employment, Cyn had no ideas. Nothing new, nothing interesting. Nothing that would save her. Past the 9, the 10, the 11...
When she was younger, about 17 or 18, Cyn thought she had the game plan. Cyn knew she was headed for bigger things. Bigger than all the years to that date would predict. She was going places. She was smart. She wasn't going to end up in some dead-end job, punching the clock and saving her pennies for dreams that would never come to pass.
She had direction. She'd sell that first elightened piece of fiction by the time she hit 21. She'd be heralded as the next big thing. She'd travel and write. She'd meet interesting people. She'd be witty and free. She'd have lovers. By the time she was 30, she'd have her collected works published and live off the royalties alone. She'd live by her talent and not take less than she expected and deserved. She'd set the world on fire with her mind and it would burn gladly at her feet.
Past the 9, the 10, the 11.
Cyn made one more pass over her email in-box. Nothing. She minimized the application and stared blankly as her screen saver raced by. "Seize the Day." "Seize the Day." "Seize the Day."
She wondered if maybe she'd write something today. Sure. That's right. After she got home, she'd write. That's what she'd do. Get home and change clothes. Get comfortable. Though, it was her day to run, so she'd do that first. Then she'd come home and take her shower to freshen up. Then she'd head upstairs and flip on the computer. Mark would be home by then. She'd chat with him a bit, just say hi. Then get right into work.
Of course, it would be dinnertime. She could start a little something on the stove and alternate between the pots and the computer. Sure. Then, after the dinner dishes were done, she would have some serious time to get to work. Really put something on paper.
Although, there was that documentary on at 9. She'd planned on watching it for a week now and she'd hate to miss anything educational that might stir her imagination. There'd be enough time between the dishes and the show, she'd get a line or two in then. After all, that's what Hemingway strove for, one good line a day. That's what she'd do. One good line today. Then, when the show ended, perhaps she could do a little more. If it wasn't too late.
Past the 9, the 10, the 11.