Grey Area

This is me getting started.

I have now started.

After intending to write something thoughtful and coherent, I stared at the blank page for a long time. My laptop battery is only so capacious. So I've started anyway.

Once you start, you can change direction. The starting is the hardest part. And the stopping, but we'll get to that later. I've started. I can go anywhere I like now.

***

In a sock drawer, behind the socks, was a box. If you were to remove the socks, and the sock-related accessories (darning needle, sock suspenders, sock puppets), and open the box, you would be able to see its contents.

The box belonged to Brock Knox. Brock never removed the socks, because he already knew what was inside the box. He didn't need a reminder.

Brock was a locksmith. He knew his business inside and out, just as he knew the box. The locks on the box (and yes, there were multiple locks) could not be picked or cracked or prised open. The box was small, but the locks were strong.

But still, Brock used the sock drawer socks as extra protection. Brock Knox didn't take risks.

One morning, Brock returned home from work to find the contents of his sock drawer strewn across the floor. Brock was in shock.

He hurried over to check the drawer. He could sew himself another sock puppet any day of the week. Sock suspenders are cheap at the local market. But the box... the box was irreplaceable.

Brock reached into the back of the drawer, and was hugely relieved to find his fingers pressing against a box-shaped object. It was the box.

But when he removed the box from its drawer, he saw that it was open. The locks had yielded, the bolts slid into nothing but air.

The box was empty.

Brock Knox checked his clocks. He had three of them - all set to roughly the same time. He looked back at the box. He looked back at the clocks.

It was half past six in the evening. Brock picked up his phone, but didn't dial a number. He put the phone back down. He knew it was too late.

Somewhere, a thief - a master lock-picker - had the contents of Brock's box. The thief could be miles away. But Brock knew how to find him. Because the box's final lock was not made of metal. The final lock could not be picked.

The final lock was chicken pox.

And whoever had fought past the socks and locks to retrieve the box would be wearing their guilt all over their itchy skin.

***

You see? Anywhere. You just need to get started.

It's a grey, miserable day. Nearly the shortest day of the year. I need sunlight to function. I'm like a reverse vampire. I'm sick of winter already, and there's still months of it to go.

I might emigrate. But where to? Somewhere warm, but not too full of chatty restaurateurs. Some Shangri-La.

Hmm. I thought there would be an 'n' in restaurateurs. But apparently not.

I suppose it's easier to wait here until spring. I'll just set myself on fire to ward off the darkness.

Mood

I don't know. Anxious, I think.

Listening to

It's possible that my anxiousness might be related to this song. It's good though. Give it a few minutes to kick in.

Also, I've been listening to this:

Boy! I just had a scary moment when I thought I'd lost this post. Imagine! All this hard work! That whole box story alone could make me millions!

I certainly dodged that bullet. I'd better finish this before anything bad happens.

Reading

Not much

Watching

A man in a hoodie standing in the garden across the road. He looks suspicious, but then I'm sure he'd say the same about me. I mean, only one of us is spying on their neighbours, and it isn't Mr Hood over there.

Oh no, hang on. Some old people have just got out of a car. They're with him. He can't be suspicious. Old people don't hang around with suspicious people. They can smell it in the air with their sensitive tongues.

My apologies, Hood.

Playing

The "Write a Blog Post Before the Laptop Battery Runs Out" Game. I'm winning so far, but it could all change on the roll of the dice. (I once had a roll of the dice at a Las Vegas bakery. I bit down on it and lost seven teeth. Lucky.)

Eating

A sandwich, no dice, granary bed, M&S reduced fat tuna and sweetcorn sandwich filler, some smoothie and a big slice of fortune. Delicious.

Drinking

Oh, right. I suppose the smoothie goes down here. Though, is it really a drink? It used to be solid. It's a grey area. Delicious.

(Grey Area Smoothie Ingredients: John Major (remember him?), charcoal, one of those little aliens, two chunks of British sky, a dolphin and one pressed pencil)

***

I don't blame you if you never want to read this blog again. All I ask is that you do read it again.

Good afternoon.