Instinctively I move my hand to grab my coffee mug. Lifting it by the handle, I bring it to a stop near my chin.

I stare at the blinking prompt on my monitor.

Blink, blink, blink.

My mind is blank. I can't think of anything to write. I don't even know how to start.

I cup my other hand over the mug, close my eyes and breathe in the sweet aroma of coffee.

I take a sip. It has cooled enough for my liking. I let the coffee flow into my mouth, dancing on my tongue before flowing down my throat.

I put the mug down back kn the coaster. Realizing the coaster moved when I put the mug down, I adjusted it, realigning it to be square to the table. I have always been anal about things like that.

One of my ex girlfriends ditched me because of details like that. She couldn't stand me nitpicking on unnecessary details. Screw her. She's the unnecassary detail. Bitch.

I look to the left of my desk. I see it looking at me. Taunting me. Calling out to me. I move my hand to pick up my cigarette box and take out a cigarette.

"Now, where is my ashtray?" I ask myself.

I take a look around the room and spot it on top of the dustbin. I always clear my ash tray after every cigarette. Even as a smoker I hate the smell of lingering ash. I grab the ash tray and place it beside my keyboard.

As I move to pick up my lighter, I spot a box of matches. I pick up the box of matches and remove a match. I place the cigarette on my lips and strike the match. As I drag the cigarette to light it, I place the still burning match in my ash tray.

I drag the cigarette and take a deep breath, filling my lungs with air and smoke.

When I was younger, I always knew I would either die riding my motorcycle or from lung cancer. Since I don't ride so much now, it seems the chances of the latter happening are getting higher.

"Hey, at least I'll finally right about something." I assure myself as I lean back into my seat.

Blink, blink, blink.

"Let your thoughts bleed onto the keyboard." I say to myself.

"Let your thoughts bleed onto the keyboard." I repeat myself.

I take on final drag on the cigarette and stub it out i to the ashtray. I check to see all the ambers are out and clear the contents of the ashtray into my dustbin.

"Let your thoughts bleed into the keyboard," I say again as I adjust my chair.

I instinctively place my left hand in the keyboard and my right hand on the mouse. I look down and realize my left hand is in the "wasd" position. "Silly boy, we're not playing video games. We're writing a story," I chuckle ti myself."

I place both my hands on the keyboard and take a deep breath.

"Let your thoughts bleed onto the keyboard."

Blink, blink, blink, I let the cursor blink a few more times before I begin typing.