My heart is singing a sweet tune that I have never heard before. It’s mid-yeah and I feel like I’m on track for good things to come. I’m not sure what the song will sound like yet, but I know that I’m crafting something good. It’s an interesting experience to set goals early in the year and not ball them up and toss them at the bin – an anti-anti-New Year’s resolution, solution. The dream is too real to set aside.
In the home office with a desk hugging the corner, my reflection watches me. $4.99 glasses peer through the words, beyond the black text. Coral-tipped fingers nip at the black keyboard. The cogs turn and whir, reverse and stop. Sometimes I paint my nails bright tones, other times I leave the room to make coffee or tea. The cat stretches a paw outwards and jacks open her eyes, like lifting one end of a heavy sofa. I pat her, with phone in the opposite hand. It needed to be checked.
The dream rolls around in the back of my mind. 1000 post-it notes flap about up there, in the cranial breeze. Some fall down, as the line of glue tires; it’s never sticky enough. Then again, sometimes it surprises me, and I can’t pry the pastel paper away.
I close my eyes and the dappled light of the evergreen’s leaves are a turning kaleidoscope through the lids. An unseasonal mosquito hovers next to me; its legs curled like lashes.
“Whattaya think you’re doing here?”
Coral-tipped fingers bite at the desk.
The music beckons through the speakers.
A slurp of tea and a mote of inspiration gather momentum. Tap, tap, tap, and a great sentence is born. Its elder sibling waits to be doted on. Coral whips around like a sparkly dress against the curtain of night. More words appear.
The afternoon light slaps my left cheek and I turn with its force. Dancing circles highlight ‘AROUND THE GLOBE’, ‘publish YOUR book’, ‘the dream’, ‘Speaking Success’, ‘TRAVELLER’, ‘A Mentor’, ‘excellence’, ‘adventure’. My vision board yells. HAPPY is centre-stage, bright like a 6 year old’s drawn sun. It’s integral to the whole operation – the operation of NJ.
The music plays, straight from my heart. Coral-tipped fingers type or pen notes and plaster them upstairs. I am revelling. The dream is far too real, it is growing in my hands.