Trying to write on a wednesday morning

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Light glinted off the noisy, black air conditioning unit that sat too far away from the wall for my taste. Beyond it, the morning sun shone through the window above my desk and illuminated the peonies I had purchased not a week ago.

It was a moment of solace, sitting at the kitchen table, watching the sun get brighter and glint against that ugly black air conditioner. Chaos ensued around me. Henry squawked and grumbled about his not having been let out of his high chair yet, and Sofie speculated about which stroller, if any, she might be allowed to sit in. I, having finished my smoothie, was trying to drink the coffee I so rarely get to finish in the morning before working out and moving on with my day.

Peonies that were starting to fade distracted me from my task of finishing coffee and doing my writings for the day, and without the ability to ignore it, I stood up. I could see Ben collecting the trash out of the corner of my eye, so I made the decision to get up and remove the wilting flowers from their vessel and put them in the compost before he left with it.

Sitting back down, Beethoven in my ear in a pathetic attempt to drown out the energy from the rest of the room, I opened my computer and began to write this very passage, to be exact. But if I had any concentration at all, it had been wiped away with the cries of my frustrated son, the turning on and off of the hall light by my daughter, and the tidying up that needed to be done around the house. I sighed. For now, this passage would have to do, but maybe, one day, I would have a silent spot, a still spot to write.

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