The little black line

Click click click…Floppy the house dog walks buy, stops to stare at me, and continues on his journey to the kitchen.  I follow him until he gets annoyed and growls at me to go away. Normal I guess. I go fetch a blanket even though I don’t really need it. 

Click click click…I stop.  I stare at the screen blankly.  I stare at the white center that is sprinkled with little black lines of nonsense bordered by Microsoft-Word-blue. I stare at the blinking black cursor and count its beats. One, two, three: the constant pounding rhythm that creates or destroys new letters, the link from my mind to the white screen in front of me.  The beat remains constant.  I stare until I break away from the entrancing flashing line to look around the room. 

As I look at the stain on the tablecloth I still see the blinking of the cursor in my peripherals.  It taunts me.  I look over to Javi and his computer which happens to be on Tuenti.  He is looking at pictures of a girl; normal I guess.  Elena is her name.  I look as he clicks through the pictures: one, two, five, twelve.  I notice the cursor blinking in an empty box.  It has jumped computers calling my name.  I look back at the laptop in front of me with the little black line still blinking at me; angrily. Yelling at me. 

“To be completely honest with you, little black line, I am not interested in intercultural mediation in the sphere of education in the Spanish schooling system.  I am not a fan of twenty page essays.  It does not please me to write about a topic that is completely monotonous and void of life, just like you little black line.  You have been taunting me the past five days and I have had enough!”

Click, click, click…blink, blink, blink…click, click, BACKSPACE, BACKSPACE, BACKSPACE. I start to get aggravated.  A warm feeling surges up from my chest into my head and up into my eyes.  “Five days and this is all I can get done? I don’t even understand what the point of this essay is.  What does this have to do with linguistics? What is linguistics? What is cultural mediation? What is the goal of this essay? I don’t even know what I’m arguing!”

Blink blink blink.  My legs are hot from the computer sitting on my lap.  “Should I get up for some more cookies and milk? No.  I’m gaining too much weight. I’m not actually hungry.  Boredom and frustration:  I need to eat it away.  Oprah does that.  She’s an emotional eater.” (I get up for cookies). 

Munch munch munch.  For that one minute of pure bliss, the warm feeling leaves my head and the angry void gets filled with floury and sugary goodness.  I return to the couch feeling much more relaxed and sit back down next to Javi. Floppy walks by again.  I begin typing once again at a fast pace: one sentence, two, three, a paragraph…Blink, blink, blink…