5 Minute Freewrite: 8-10 Years
Length of time to live
Life expectancy of a big dog (similar to length of time to live, but not quite the same)
Time to complete some advanced degrees
And now I find myself just sitting here, pondering, for too long, so I must start typing. And so I type. And on and on I type, and I swear I have been typing for 8 years straight. Can you even imagine? How long my nails are, how tired my eyes are, how crooked my back is. Maybe it's been 10 years. It feels like ten years of arthritis, eight years of grease in my hair. But my family is prone to arthritis, so.
It was a day like any other day.
It is a day.
A child. 8-10 years old. Makes a sound. "Hi Mom!" the child says. The child lives with the mom part-time. Presumably with the dad the other part time.
It bakes. If it lives, it bakes. It baked. Oooooh.
Straighten those shoulders. Don't let the back become crooked, not for another 2 years at least. 2 years of typing. 2 Year Freewrite. Wouldn't that be a thing.
The cat looks at me and licks her lips. Hmmm.
There are too many people in the world, too many for my brain to comprehend, too many thoughts to not understand, or actions, rather. But what are the thoughts that cause the action of doing those rubber burning turns at the 4 way stop near us at early AM in the morning? Like my answer to Lochlan about so many things, I guess it's probably, "Just for fun!"
Why? Just for fun.
Why? I already answered that question.
Pitter patter tippy tappy go my fingers and that means I must needs type. Typety typety type. Tippety tippety top. The dog approaches.
Slamming doors. Slam shut. 8-10 years. 8 with good behavior.
The dog scritches at me. She is so annoying.
It is always around this time, around this time. Here it is. It is now. How does it come to be this way, and yet I am always waiting, waiting? For the beepety beep.
I do miss living in the country. I yi yi yi yi yi yi yi. Okay, I really think, this time, that the timer is not going to ding. Maybe I turned my computer volume off. I mean, right? You feel it, too, right? Deep breath. Trying to resist the urge to check.
And this is how it came to be 2 years. 8 years. 10 years. I won a Guinness World Record Prize. It's a rather large trophy, bowl shaped, and I use it to sip milk out of. I can only eat with a straw these days, for my teeth have all rotten and fallen out.
And oh, yes, indeed. the timer did not vocalize. Ah, I see. The sound is off. I blame Brendan.