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The missing mouse
Saturdays are reserved for grocery shopping, cleaning, piano playing, cycling, and writing. By 8:30 pm I had finished all my chores and looked forward to sitting in my loft to write.
I glanced at my computer and suddenly noticed that I had taken my mouse to the office. Can I operate without a mouse?
I turned the machine on. No. I cannot.
Panic! What am I going to do with my Saturday evening? I am all set to write, to download all those thoughts that have been building up all week.
I went next door to say hello but really to slip in the innocent question, "Do you have a spare mouse?"
An hour and an elderflower iced drink later, I came back to my house. No mouse. No writing. No updating of the Bon Journal.
I looked around my loft for something else to do. My loft is the only place in the house that is not empty. I have decluttered the rest of the house to make it feel like a hotel. The loft is where I sleep now, surrounded by my Laura Ashley dresses and other things that hang on a pole suspended from the ceiling and those books I haven't sold through Amazon. Hiding under the eaves of the roof are my suitcases and boxes all filled to the brim.
In a far corner lies a sealed box. It contains forgotten love letters and personal diaries. If curiosity killed the cat, surely there's a missing mouse in there --- somewhere!
24 July 2004 Saturday
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