Mater

So much for a day of rest. Anna kept herself busier than I thought she could, flitting from computer to kitchen to notepad and pen - and back again. I didn’t think she had it in her any more.

[More:]

At least she stayed outside for some of the time, so I could soak up some sun. I’ve waited a long time for that. She’s not the only one in need of a bit of sunshine in her life. Actually, a life would be good. But never mind. She’s writing. It’s not my story she’s writing (but that’s no surprise, is it?), but at least another protagonist is having a look-in. The story is moving ahead quite nicely as far as I can see. Some funny quips in there, too. I like that. Can’t quite see where it’s going though. I wonder if Anna can?

She finally disappeared inside when the gnats started hovering and biting. I had nothing to do with it - cross my heart, hope to die... Bad choice of words, I know. A non existent entity can‘t actually die, can it? (I feel more like a ’he’ than an ’it’, by the way, but it wasn’t always like that.) But you get my drift. Anyway, I was feeling quite relaxed - and gnats don’t bother me. Well, they wouldn’t, would they? But something seems to be bothering Anna, and it‘s not those little insects irritating her. Perhaps it’s me again.

She started up the computer, eager enough. Ready to go. But then - just an empty stare. She just sat there, staring at the blank screen as though she was looking nothingness in the face (can nothingness have a face?). I swooped down and perched myself on her shoulder, willing her to take up where she left off. Where she left me off, way back when. Anna, me and an empty page ready for my story. What could be better? But no, she just sat there. I waited (nothing unusual there) and waited. Anna sighed.

‘What’s the matter now?’
(That wasn’t me talking!)

‘Nothing.’

‘But what are you doing?’
(Please, please let her say she’s thinking about my story!)

‘Thinking.’
(Oh, perhaps not then.)

‘Thinking? You don’t usually just sit there thinking, staring at nothing.’

‘Can’t I just think?’

‘But you’re not doing anything. You’re always doing something, even when you're supposedly thinking.’

‘Shut up!’

O-oh. She shouldn’t speak to her husband like that, should she? It’s not very nice. He’s quiet now. So is Anna.

‘Sorry.’

‘Get back to your thinking. It’s okay.’

‘It’s not okay. I can’t think.’

‘Doesn’t stop you talking, does it? I’m watching football.’

‘You spoke first.’

I wouldn’t bother if I was you, Anna ( and I‘m not her, you know). You won’t get his attention again in a hurry. At least not till half time.

Of course she‘s not listening to me. She’s staring at that blank page again. Perhaps if I lean forward and accidentally depress a couple of keys… Well, perhaps not - I’ll have to make her do it. Here we go. She’s lifting her hand - there! Easy wasn’t it?

It’s a nice feeling, sitting here on her shoulder, watching her fingers fly (or meander anyway - she could do with a bit more speed) over the keyboard. I could get used to this. But what is she writing?

What? Hey! That’s plagiarism! She’s using ideas from my manuscript. Ideas are not copyright? What about my right? Hello! Anna! She can’t do that, can she? She’ll spoil my story. I need that bit! She won't be able to use that again, will she? Oh… I’m getting very close to losing my temper. Ouch! She’s pulling me to pieces! How could she? I hope she knows what she’s doing.

Sitting on her shoulder wasn’t so comfortable after all. If I hadn’t been so busy poking my nose into her business, I wouldn’t have known what she was up to, would I? That might have been better, I suppose. What made her do it? I feel cannibalised. Perhaps I brought it on myself? I would retire somewhere, if I could, to lick my wounds - but there is nowhere to go, except back into her mind. I’m not sure I want to be there just now. Perhaps that’s all she wants, to keep me at bay. Well, we’ll see. Let her do her worst. I’ll find a way to get through this set-back, too - somehow.