A letter to my Resistance

Dear Resistance,

I woke up this morning and you’d invited yourself into my home, my room.

You pulled up a chair and stared at me until my eyes began to flutter in the morning light.

You accompanied me to the kitchen where I made eggs and coffee.

You followed like a shadow as I took my dog for a walk.

You rested your head on my shoulder as I picked out my clothes.

As I stood in front of my office door, you pointed to all the urgent tasks I have neglected to complete.

The box of unopened mail.

The laundry.

The dishes.

You know how I hate a mess.

To others, you point to a substance, a person, an activity.

To me, you hold up the menial tasks that gather and lay dormant until I am at the brink of an evolution.

Only then do they stretch and scream their needy wails.

You tease and taunt them.

I feel my cells change direction.

My fingers grasp for the ‘completion’ of anything but my work.

Today, though, I retract my hand.

I reorient my cells.

I push open the door to my office, then my computer.

My weighted hands find the keys.

I begin…

The text builds. One line, then another.

A wall, ever growing.

For today.

I fight for my creativity.

For today.

I honor the call.

For today.

I’ve done my work.

For today.

I have beat Resistance.

Until tomorrow,