I Cannot Stop Writing- Redo

The Second Hand Of The Clock Stopped Moving

I.

I picked up a poetry book, and began reading where I had just left off. A few lines later nothing seemed to pique my interest. Not the computer, reading my email, or did listening to the treadmill motor as my husband walked behind me. I decided turning on music would only stir my thoughts even more. I had become antsy this afternoon and felt like a twelve year old again.

II.

Often in eighth grade when there was only ten minutes left before class ended. The teacher would instruct us us to start any unfinished homework in what she called free time. I gave into boredom; twirled my hair; lifted my shirt to scratch my belly, and then stuck my hands down in my baggy jeans in a Napoleon gesture. I sighed loudly as I looked out the window and saw last period gym class still running around the track. Because my desk was in the back row it was easy to keep my book open, but start packing up my supplies so I could quickly get out of the classroom. When I was done I noticed the tip of my pencil seemed dull. I walked slowly up to the pencil sharpener. Now at the front of the class the teacher would look at me with a frowning sneer as they looked up at the big round clock. Like my plan for escape was about to be foiled. If I could get away with it, the kids outside would come along; lift the windows open, everyone would scream deliriously, then jump out of our seats, and leap onto the grass below. But the class remained reverently silent. Without a minute’s notice the school bell rang in chaos. Anyone with any sense scurried towards the open door, and out into the hallway.

III.

Looking down at my watch I announced to my husband it was time for me to start making dinner. Hopping off the couch and heading toward the kitchen to the rhythm of his feet, I would start my next assignment. Under my breath I began grumbling, “could this day go any slower”.

I remove my work after a few days. Thanks for reading- Elizabeth