I was running around a track in a grass field. The track itself was sandy. That doesn’t matter. Each time I was about to get into the rhythm of legs stretched, good breathing, forward motion, something would catch my eye: a wire mesh backstop was teetering toward the path in the wind. If not me, who? I would stop to relocate it, away from the track. Begin again. Oh, no. I need my sunglasses. They’re in the car. Begin again. The grass has overgrown the path here. Take a detour. Slows me down. Begin again. Over and over and —
I woke up exhausted, a wrinkle pressed down the side of my face from a crease in the pillow case, brain fogged in.
Yellow legal pad in its customary spot, I sit down to write.
Pen needs new cartridge. Begin again.
Can’t to do it today without coffee. Begin again.
Oh look at those three deer out front. Begin again.
Time to feed Maggie. Begin again.
Phone rings. Oops, better take that call. Begin again.
Guy coming soon to try to locate source of mysterious water leak coming from underneath the wall of books in my study. Better take a shower and get dressed. Begin again. . . later.
If Distractions didn’t exist, I would have to invent them.