I have a problem...
My name is Michelle and I'm addicted to notebooks and pens.
I collect notebooks - I have a cupboard (or two... three) full of them and just because I can never find a pen, doesn't mean to say I don't have hundreds of them stashed away somewhere, because I do - I just can't bear to use them!
Like I said... I have a problem!
I found another notebook just the other day and I looked through it and discovered the start of a story.
Here it is.
She woke up in a cold sweat, heart hammering in her chest like a kid trapped in a basement when the lights went out.
One hard, shuddering breath in seared her lungs and burnt her dry throat. That would feel sore in the morning. Her throat always felt sore after the dream.
She reached for the cup of water on the cabinet next to the bed. A relatively new habit, borne of necessity because of the dream.
She sipped cool water and thought about the dream. No details remained in her sleep-deprived brain.
She reached for her phone - 03:50 flicked to 03:51 and she sighed. The same time. It was always 03:50.
It would take an hour or more to get back to sleep. No matter what time she went to bed these days, she always woke at 03:50 in an absolute blind panic.
"Are you OK darling?" a mumble from the other side of the bed.
"Yes, I'm OK. Go back to sleep." She got out of bed and went out onto the landing. Her bare feet on the cool hard-wood floor padded quietly to the bathroom. She turned on the light, shielding her eyes from the glare.
Running water into the sink, she wiped her aching eyes, trying anything to relieve the scratchy exhaustion.
She swallowed, forgetting her sore throat and a flash of the dream came to mind in that involuntary action. She looked up to study her reflection in the mirror above the sink.
Dark circles under her eyes made the pale blue of her irises stand out in her face. "Great," she sighed. "The colour of my eyes really pops against the pale cappuccino shade of those dark circles."
She gargled quietly with a mild antiseptic mouthwash, spat and rinsed and went back to bed.
Simon had spread out to claim her pillow and most of her side of the bed but he moved when prompted and one arm wrapped around her, enveloping her in his sleep-warmth when she lay back down. Snuggled in his embrace, she drifted back off to sleep.
At work, her head began to ache before the end of the first meeting.
"You look terrible, Wendy. Why don't you go home?" her boss said as she made another coffee.
"It'll make no difference, Peter. I can't get any sleep at home, I may as well stay here."
"Actually, it was more of an order than it was a question," he said. He gently took the mug from her hand and waited for her to look up at him. "Go to the doctor. Get something to help you sleep. Take the week off and come back to work refreshed. I'm worried. I don't want you burning out just before we start our next project. If I need anything, I'll email you. If it's important, I'll phone."
She looked out from the kitchen area to her desk. Then she looked across the office at the rest of the staff. No one was in a hurry or a rush. There was no flurry of activity yet, that would start to build in a few weeks. "I suppose I should take the time now," she said.
"That's what I just said." Peter nodded, a concerned expression on his face.
"I'll get my bag, thank you, Peter," she said.
Usually, I find the perfect notebook and I write longhand into it. It's only relatively recently that I've been able to sit at my computer and just write out a story or an article.
I don't know where this story is going, it's as much of a mystery to me as it is to you and though I've not given you much to begin with, it's exactly as I scribbled it down.
I'll type out some more of it tomorrow and if I get chance, I'll read through it all and add to it.