A Short Story
I wonder how many times I have tried and failed, started and stopped, thought and not acted. I wonder how many times I have imagined myself overcoming my obsessive compulsion; my, not-so-recent, life-consuming goal. I have had my mind and life prodded and reworked. Mangled. Streamlining my actions toward my impalpable destination.
I have been sitting motionless for many hours, without a sound, in my congenial neighbor's overstuffed blue loveseat. For, you see, today, my plight has come to an end. It is quite a comfortable piece of furniture, the loveseat. I have grown rather fond of it over the last many weeks. My compulsion has brought me to this seat almost every day while I assist this aging man with his day to day chores. I had done dishes and laundry. Mowed the lawn and even washed a few windows for little more recompense than a good lunch and gentle conversation.
I have been sitting for so long without relevance of thought that I just now noticed the subtle fragranc