Golden rays of sunlight pour into the office.  The yellowish light illuminates the grey, black and beige of the office in light patches.  The rest of the office remains in the dark.  Only the sound of the noisy ventilation system and the mechanical rebound of the laptop keys greet my ears.  I sit and type.  The morning already light up the parking and park outdoors.  But like the few cars on the empty parking lot, my thoughts are few.

I sit and I type.  I write down every fleeting idea on this digital tablet.  I hope that some spark of an idea will form.  I hope that I’ll wake up sometime.  The fog in my mind refuses to clear.  It dissipates slowly with every character and word that appears on the screen.  An excruciating glacial process it remains.  However I would not enjoy any other way of awaken, other than writing.  Already I feel the mental machinery groaning and moaning.  Each thought warms the tired mind.  Each thought like a spark ignites the weary imagination.

A quick glance on my carefully scribbled todo lists bound by paperclip and unbound in breadth, reveals how much the day holds work for me.   So as the morning light filters into the silent office building, I take up my craft, my burden and my joy.