I hated the question as soon as it left my lips. Not only was it lame, but it was as if the words had taken over, hinting at a fantasy I didn’t want to recognize in my head. One where we lounge the day away in the park, my laptop out so I could get in a little writing as Reese sprawls out on a blanket reading.
No, it wasn’t my book in the fantasy. I’m not that narcissistic.
“It is,” Reese confirmed, pulling me out of the vision in my head. It made me feel too content, too happy. I’ve always been wary of things which seem too good to be true. “There’s a playground and a dog park there. The paths are well lit even at night. On the weekends a few food trucks set up for a few hours.”
Her eyes sparkled and I barely bit off asking her if she wanted to go and check it out the next day they’d be there. I didn’t move to a new place to meet a woman. I moved because I needed a change. Because I’d been struggling writing my book and the clock is rapidly approaching zero.
What happens when time runs out?
I don’t even want to think about it, honestly, but it won’t be good.
I was damn lucky to be picked up by a publisher in the first place. I don’t want to lose my chance of growing my career because I have a little writer’s block.
Except it’s more than a little. Except it’s been going on for a few months now. Except my publisher expects a manuscript soon. The sand is almost gone from the hourglass.
Or however you want to look at it, as long as you do so dramatically. With flowery prose.
When I met Reese, I had all these notions, visions, hopes and even fucking dreams, though I didn’t want to admit it at the time. I thought…well, it doesn’t matter what I thought because it became obvious very quickly she’s nothing but a spoiled princess who doesn’t consider anyone but herself. I could tick off all her habits which fuck with my life, and I have. Often.
She works at some café and is up incredibly early. That wouldn’t be bad, but her alarm wakes me up. Every. Single. Fucking. Morning.
It’s so loud I’m surprised it doesn’t wake up half the building.
Then there’s Boomer, who barks most of the day away. The barking I could maybe ignore, but then there’s the whining. It’s clear he doesn’t like being cooped up in her apartment all day. Not like I can blame him; I’m practically crawling up the walls myself. I don’t have a choice in the matter, I need to write.
I scrub a hand down my face, knowing I can’t blame Boomer either. He doesn’t have a choice. He’s locked up like a prisoner the same way I am. Doesn’t mean I have to like it and it doesn’t mean it’s any easier to get work done when he’s barking all the fucking time.
If it were only those two things, I might be able to work around it, but then there’s the music. The fucking music. When Reese gets home from work, she loves to play music. It’s not at an acceptable volume either. Not to me.
She likes it loud and proud.
My inability to think has gotten even worse since I moved in here. Ever since Reese introduced herself to me.
I was on the verge of a breakthrough on my book. I finally had a fucking plot which was a huge for me. Then I moved and now I spend most of the time staring at an empty screen. Have you ever been taunted by a blank document?
Hell, I even got out a notebook, thinking I could write it out long hand to get started. I was hopeful it would be different enough that I could finally connect my hand, my brain and my imagination.
Yeah, being stared at by an empty piece of paper, it turns out, is not better than a blank document.
Go figure.
Boomer has pulled me from the one good start I’ve had in…I’m not even sure how long. As I look over what I’ve written, my eyes narrow with every fucking dog reference. I guess his barking had an influence even before it broke through my concentration completely.
Damn it.
I used to be a dog lover. At least in theory, considering I haven’t owned a dog since I was a kid. It was rewarding to have the dog’s unconditional love and I liked having someone to look after. Then my parents split, and I couldn’t keep my best friend any longer. I was devastated.
Still, I have a soft spot in my heart for canines.
Not Boomer. He’s a fucking menace. I shouldn’t take this any longer.
When Reese gets home, I’m going to confront her about the dog and the noise and just all of it.
Again.
Because I’ve already made my feelings known. I’m not going to hide my discomfort at the ways she disrupts my life. It’s not right.
I hate spoiled women who act like little fucking girls who don’t have to consider anyone other than themselves. It pisses me off to no end. It’s the whole reason I broke up with my last girlfriend.