Can't write today...

What is happening to me...? It is the allotted time and I am in the regular place, but What I want to do more than write is (oh no, can it really be true) grade papers... well that is not really what I want to do... since I have been doing it for two days. I must take a break my brain is all mushy with the repetition of information. But equally scary is what I REALLY DO WANT TO DO; I want to study comparative Government and politics texts, I want to investigate on-line macroeconomics courses and plan AP history lessons. Is it sick and wrong that when I am going to sleep I envision word games and activities to help my students become better writers? As a 31 year-old single woman, shouldn't I have slightly different (dare I not say, BETTER) things on my mind in my last moments of consciousness? Is that what I dream about? Word games to expand their vocabulary and practice quizzes to build up their content recall... wow, what an exciting life I do lead!
All for the love of the game. My, my. Well, I had better get back to it. The tide and grammatically challenged eleventh graders wait for no man.

But with the keys flying below my fingers now, I find it equally difficult to pull away. It is like my breath is integrally rooted to the keys themselves. Almost like my breath comes in through my fingers more than my nose and the oxygen is within the keys themselves. I wonder what else is in the keys.
They will to be touched, plucked like ripe fruit. The story, the message, comes from behind the keys. It is they who speak and yearn to be heard. The order in which they are hit is irrelevant, like an Ouija board spelling it all out for me, the message comes through me; the keys tell their story and give me the breath that my fingers crave.

With each pause I am left breathless, gasping like in thin air on some mountain peak. My lungs willing me to push on, while my head and my heart pull away. But without air my head and heart are useless. Click, click, click. respirando. The keys are the air I breathe. Click, click. The keys tell their story and give me the breath that my fingers crave.