Part 4

This is the last part before I have to write more. Now you know as much of the story as I do.

With my afternoon breakfast in my hand, I returned to my office intent upon trying to write some more. To my surprise, my computer’s power button glowed, and the screen was once again covered in words. I could have sworn that I’d turned the damn
thing off before I’d gone to sleep last night. I pulled my chair up to the desk, my Cheerios forgotten in their bowl beside me. I had not simply forgotten to shut down the machine after last night’s experience, for new words greeted me when I began to read. It was an idea both powerful and aggressive, but unfortunately, it moved with awkward steps and seemed to be posed in a stiff and unnatural way. Still, it was a recognizable thought despite being the remains of a living idea mounted on paper, or in this case, my 19-inch computer screen. The coincidences were too strong to ignore any longer; my delusions of hunting in that Jurassic forest were more than hallucinations. The butchered corpse of my first prize, left mangled and broken; the stuffed and mounted body of this second idea, nearly lifelike, but still stiff and awkward. I couldn’t believe it, but I could not deny it either. Excitement rose in my chest, and I whooped with happiness. It seemed that every time I fell asleep and imagined that I was a nearly naked Neanderthal, I was, in fact, writing. Where did these ideas come from? Were they part of my subconscious? Did they come from whatever suppressed area of my brain was creating these images of hunting in a primeval forest? I didn’t know, and I didn’t care. What I did know was that it was time to get to work: I needed a nap!
After quickly finishing my cereal, I fluffed my pillow, closed the blinds, and lay back on my couch. I had work to do, and nothing was going to stop me. Nothing except the fact that I’d just slept ten hours and woken up a little less than an hour ago. Hell. Suddenly a solution came to me: daytime television! Nothing, and I mean nothing, is guaranteed to put me to sleep faster than the yammering of rednecks who insist on airing their private grievances on public TV. Thank you Judge Judy, you’ve just saved my career. Unfortunately, half an hour in, there was an attractive blond woman who insisted on wearing a shirt with a collar that dipped far too far into her décolleté. Call me a pig, call me a chauvinist, but either way, I was unable to look away. This wasn’t working. I needed a new course of action.