I am not a writer. Are you?
A real writer forgets to do his wash and gets eye strain from looking at his computer screen too long.
His dog gets confused–wondering why his master is writing down words from a home decor book and why it’s more important than his ‘beggin strips’ or ‘chopped blends.’
People in the ferry terminal think Mr. writer might be having a silent seizure from staring at the floor with a troubled look on his face for five minutes. (should we do something? who should we call? :/ )
Women on the train think he’s strange for fixating on their shoes. (“I’ll bet he works at a shoe store Diane.” “What? no, this is everyday Gina. He’s a weirdo, I’m telling you.”)
Co-workers keep seeing that same facial expression. The one that looks like he left the stove on at home.
His wife still wonders what he’s looking for out the window.
(“nuthin honey, I’m just lookin.” :/ )
He’s compelled to blurt out lines from Robert Frost poems while waiting in line for prescriptions but stops short and clears his throat instead.
He stays in the bathroom too long reciting the same lines, fast, then slow.
He jots down words in a notebook while standing in front of trees, subways, firehouses, abandoned houses, run-down fences, the attic door…….
Yes, a writer gets eye strain and all those other things.
No, I am not a writer. Are you?