Broken Melody


It’s 9:10 am. I am sitting in the kitchen table. On the right are empty coffee cup and dish where I chewed a half of tortilla with peanut butter are my breakfast. The first time I bought a tortilla to alternate carbohydrate on my diet. It’s nutritional value apparently supersedes that of white bread which is abundant in groceries than the first. In the adjacent room are tumbling clothes in the dryer, a few steps out the tv is announcing updates on storm warnings and other top stories for this Sunday in the family room.

Glancing at my patient who is sitting on her wheelchair, alertly raising her head unsuccessfully fighting a nocturnal activity as her head keeps falling down, the only thing she will do today, sleeping, aside from having her regular meals. I would like to ease her situation so she could sleep comfortably, but my job is not to let her go into inactivity by sleeping. Something that I won’t be able to do hundred percent of her waking hours.

Hearing television reporters and politicians talking about the forthcoming election is filling this house, noises not enough to keep her awake, but noises that I welcome diverting her attention away from me immerse in my own thoughts. As a writer you don’t want them to think that I’m benefiting from this job. No. That I get to blog and write while they pay me? Wait till I write my book while working. Hitting two birds in one stone. It’s not going to happen. Yet.

On the other hand don’t I have to use my mind in a productive way, does a job have to take over me mentally? When I am immerse in my own thought am I not doing my job? The washer is on, should I Look at it while it’s turning around? If I don’t does it mean I am not doing my job? Guilty.

Who could judge what’re in my thoughts?

This is not the first time I’m attempting to write and post, which most of the time is a failure. I get sidetracked overcome with guilt doing what I love best, writing instead of doing what I’m paid to do.

It is 1:12 pm. The laundry is dry and folded, bed is properly made. Just had another cup of coffee. The patient is in the deck, sunning herself after a few range of motion exercise she performed with my assistance. Back to writing. The tv still on with another Sunday program about car restoration. It’s sound is the only noise filling this house. I am still deep in my own thoughts. I’ve moved from the kitchen to the family room where I am closer to the patient compensating some guilt I felt.

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