These Days

Let me set the scene for you right now— I’m sitting at my vintage wooden desk with nail polish splatters and scratches. I’m too lazy to sand it down and repolish and quite frankly, the desk only cost sixty dollars at Goodwill. My work monitor sits on the desk to my right. An eyesore to my aesthetic, but I’m grateful, nonetheless, that I have a big screen to toggle the tabs on work-from-home days. To the left sits my typewriter, Bertha. She sleeps with her cover on full-time in hopes she’s not sprinkled with Walter’s cat hair as he galivants across the already cracked wood against my wishes. Sometimes, I wake Bertha up in the middle of the day to see if she still wants to talk. I cleaned her up well, I think.

The hum of my A/C competes with the YouTube playlist playing through my TV. Although it’s a beautiful day out, a rainy 1940s playlist always gets me in the mood to write. Sometimes, lyrics rival my own words, but writing in silence won’t do for me.

Walter jumps onto my lap and sits. He doesn’t purr, but he looks at me intently. Like, I owe him lunch money or something. I always wonder what’s going on in his head. I pat his head as if I know exactly what he’s thinking, and at this moment, maybe I do because he closes his eyes and lifts his head as if that’s exactly what he wanted. I smile at him, and he jumps off of me to join his sister, Lily, on the couch. I think he wants to cuddle with her, but Lily doesn’t like cuddling.

They say your animals are a reflection of you, so now I’m thinking of what Walter and Lily are like. Both are clingy, love food, and are always down for a nap. Walter has an attitude when he doesn’t get his way. Lily pouts. I think I’m more like Walter when it comes to that.

“A Night In Paris” playlist plays next and a text notification displays on the top right of my laptop screen. Maybe I should’ve written on Bertha today and let the technology rest. These days, I’m still grateful.