2. The Typewriter

I looked down at my cup telling me to make my own magic. It was as if the universe, or in this case the typewriter, was speaking directly to me in this very moment.

So. What in my life would I like to be different than it is? I sat at that desk for quite sometime going over so many things, discarding, rethinking.

When I started typing though, the words that came out were simply about the day I would experience. I wrote little details about the next day, as if it had already happened. Who came in my store, what was said, even the music Pandora was playing.

In the morning I woke up excited even though I couldn't think of why I would be. Everything I had experienced all seemed like a dream.

I went about my day as I usually did: coffee, run, breakfast, shower, work.

When I arrived at my store, I went up to my office and turned on the music. From that moment, I knew how my whole day would go. It all came rushing back to me, everything I had written the day before, and my excitement rose. I had asked the typewriter for the song that Pandora was playing.

I watched as my day unfolded exactly, to the letter, what was on the page I had tucked away in my desk drawer at home, as if the typewriter were a shop, and the paper, my cart. I had put all the things in my cart, and bought them with the ask.

I went home that evening with a sense of euphoria. There were literally no thoughts in my head. Nothing of work, and the stresses. Nothing of home, and the lack of love.

For the first time in a long time, I felt free.

After cooking dinner for myself, I poured a glass of wine and went to sit on the couch with my husband. The only talking came from the tv. It mattered not at all to me. I was inside my head as I sipped, imagining the writing of my life story, day by day, page by page, chapter by chapter, like laying the stones on which I would step to the life I desired to be living.

I finished my wine and got up to go to bed. " Goodnight", I said, and received no response.

I took the next few days to mull over all the things I would like to choose, and what it might look like on the way. My days off from my job were during the week, deliberately chosen as to have the time to myself. That is when I would put it all down on paper, or at least start to.

Continuously smiling to myself had everyone asking what I was up to, and I had no reply. What would I say? I found a magic typewriter that makes everything written on it come true so I am going to write myself a new life?

That was certifiable even for me. I laughed, and told everyone I was choosing joy. That seemed to do the trick and for the rest of the day, they left me alone.

Finally, my weekend came. After my run, shower and food, I sat down at the typewriter.

The words flowed out of me like a river in spring, gushing into the future, clearing debris on the banks. By the time I stopped typing, I had a stack of paper to my left, and hours had passed. I couldn't even remember what I had written, or how many pages. I contemplated reading it, and then chose not to.

I straightened the stack, tucked it away in the drawer, and went to kitchen for wine. I had the night to myself, a blessing really. I called my dog up to the couch and turned on the tv.

Tomorrow would be a new day, and the wonderment at what might come was like the wine in my glass, warm, intoxicating, with a little spice on the finish.