My Master carries a little book with him. In it he writes down ideas for later writing. Sometimes he uses those ideas, sometimes he doesn’t, but when he can’t think of what to write about, he peruses the book for ideas.

I usually let my mind wonder. If it wonders into some interesting territory, I think to myself, I’ll have to write about that. If I have time, I will “think” my way through the entire piece, deciding what I am going to say and how I am going to say it. I did that last night. As I was falling asleep, I thought of a good topic for this blog. As I drifted off, I thought through the points I was going to make.

Well, you know the problem, of course, don’t you? I have forgotten what I was going to write about! Oh, I’m sure it will come back to me, eventually. Hopefully, this time I’ll be smart enough to WRITE IT DOWN!

Yes, I am hiding. I want to do nothing but stay in bed with the covers pulled over my head. I know myself well enough to know what that means. I’m hiding. But from what?

Perhaps I am hiding from the end of the semester work. Perhaps it is the extracurricular that I work with that is making me want to slink away into a quiet cave. Maybe it’s bills or commitments at home. My guess is that it is all of these things combined.

For whatever reason, I just want to go underground.

Days went by, with the woman contemplating her situation and how things had changed with the introduction of the man named Jaric. How could she use this to her advantage?

Jaric did not come back the next day, or the day after. She wondered how long it would be until he reappeared. She began to get ansy. Perhaps, finally, things would change, but she needed him to make that happen.

Finally, on the third day, as she lay in bed she heard the door open. She watched as the robed figure entered the room, left the tray on the table and backed away to the door. He stood there, seeming to wait for her. She sat up.

“You’re back,” she said.

“Yes,” said Jaric, removing his hood. “I said that I would return. And you said you needed time to think about what you required. Have you thought about it?”

“I require information,” she replied. He was silent. “You won’t tell me anything?” she asked.

“There are many things that we will discuss in the future, when the time is right.”

“Why am I here?” she asked.

“Because it is where you belong.”

“What do you want?”

“Your happiness,” he said. And mine, he thought.

“Okay, so what do you expect of me?” she asked.

“Be yourself.”

That was a bizarre answer. He had answered all of her questions, yet had told her nothing. This Jaric was frustrating, but also somehow strangely alluring. She decided to change her tactic.

“You have asked me what I need. I need out,” she said.

He raised his eyebrows at that. “Why? What do you think is out there that you need that cannot be provided in here?”

“How about a change in scenery? For weeks all I have seen are these four walls, this cramped little space. Think of all the places that you have been, the things that you have seen in that time. I am tired of this dark little cell. Have I been put here because I am being punished for something?”

“No,” he answered quickly.

“Then let me out. Let me see the sunshine. Let me walk in the bright lights. Let me DO something but be trapped in this cell!” She realized she was beginning to lose control. She stopped herself and took some deep breaths. There was no way she was going to become hysterical, especially in front of this man.

“I will have to work on that one,” said Jaric. “Arranging it could be…complicated. In the mean time, is there anything else? Do you need anything here to help you pass the time, since, as you say, you spend so much time here?”

She thought about that. “Could I have something to read? Maybe a TV or radio, some news of the outside world?”

“What do you like to read?” he asked.

“Newspapers, magazines, books.”

“What kind of books?”

“Mysteries, crime dramas. Something to pass the time.”

“I think I can find those for you.” Jaric began to reach for the door.

“You are the only person I’ve talked to,” she blurted out. “I am tired of being alone.”

Somehow, that seemed to please Jaric. Softly he said, “I will try to make my visits frequent. You need not be alone all the time.”

Then he was gone.

That’s right, I really don’t feel like writing. During the day, I have little fizzles of ideas to write about, but when I sit at the computer, they seem to pale. It’s like they aren’t good enough to right about. No, that’s not quite it. I don’t think I will do them justice. You know how it is; sometimes you just can’t quite get the words to say what you want them to say.

Right now, I want to write some important and deep and profound (trust me folks, this ain’t gonna be it!). But that doesn’t seem to be what’s developing in my head at the moment. Things are a bit more jumbled and murky, probably due to my current stress and fatigue.

Nevertheless, I continue to write. Why? A few reasons. First and foremost, my Master requires it of me. As long as it is within my power to carry out his bidding, I will do so. If my poor brain results in doing it badly, well, I’d rather that than to have to tell Master I didn’t do it.

Secondly, I write because that’s what writers do. We write, even when we don’t do it well. It may be the germ of an idea will be sparked within this rambling. It may be that I simply get to practice correct punctuation and grammar. But I will continue to write.

The cookie jar sits

And people walk by.

Some take a cookie

Some take more.

Some just nibble a little

Some gobble up handfuls.

The cookie jar becomes

More and more depleted.

Soon it is empty.

There is nothing more to give.



I am the cookie jar.