Work the Routine

the routine

She awoke with a wide smile. Today was the day. Jumping out of bed, she reached for her new French Press. Letting the coffee to brew, she grabbed her brush and skipped her way to the bathroom.

Her reflection glowed at her. Laughing at her self, she cleaned her teeth and washed up.

Opening the bathroom door, she saw it. On her dining table sat her perfectly brewed coffee. Waiting, calling for her.

She grabbed her extra-large mug, in all its whiteness, and poured carefully the brown goodness into it. With the cup nestled in both her hands, she walked over to the window.

Slowly inhaling the scented steam, she looked down at the world. Bustling and rushing — worktime had begun.

Turning away, she walked over to her desk. Everything was ready.

Clicking her Mac to life, she placed her coffee next to it. She pulled herself closer to her desk, and opened the usual application; Pages.

Full screen.

No distractions.

Clean slate.

Fingers hovering over the keyboard, she waited.

An hour later, she stood for a refill. And then, went back to the clean slate.

This time, she crossed her arms, waiting.

The cursor kept blinking. Assuringly. All would be alright. She’d figure it out.

The sun kept rising. She took a break for lunch — a pack of instant noodles, and got back to her desk.

Back to her blank canvas.

Daylight steadily decreased, and along with the lights, came her evening cup of coffee.

Still a black canvas.

Night fell as she steadily stared at the blank screen. When the clock stuck twelve, she breathed heavily and cracked her knuckles.

And then, she began.

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