My Little Eye

Truth be told, I wrote this in my head earlier, but I’ve already forgotten what I’d said… so here we go again. Actually in fact, let me backtrack, retrace my steps and hold my brain at freeze-point (that’s where I threaten to do nothing until I remember what’s been lost). Is it still procrastination if I’m saving the fun things, savouring the journey? Yes. Yes? What is that buzzing noise FOR THE SAKE OF FUCK?

OK it was something that felt yellow. Something beginning with T. Shit, my tea — why is it that I’m either scalded or scolded (by my own self) whenever I make a cuppa. Might as well load the dishwasher first. But I’d need to perform a circusy crowd-pleaser in order to retrieve the stack of cups balancing outside my room. Better put on the slippers which don’t try to kill me in the stairs. I swear they were here. My bare feet are making stepping stones of the cold January tiles, well if fact of the sparse chosen ones which are warmed by underfloor pipes — ah must be nice to be a rich bitch with intentional underfloor heating, any heating to be fair. I should turn off the heating. But first I need to peeeee.

No wait, what was I doing? Oh yeah. T…T… Channing Tatum — bit of a stretch and completely off base. Trail mix… raisins, yuck. I need to empty my bag of the loose raisins I hid from the dog actually — no they aren't my raisins. It is my wine though, NOT Izzy’s. I should probably chill this. So many expired greens, and the bin’s full but I can’t take them out without my good slippers!

Fine, back to the forgotten tale. Treaties, treasure, tangerine or tambourine? Hmm, let’s check Netflix for inspiration LOL. The old flix calls for a snack. Once fixed, I’m settling into the settee. OK deadline is in three hours, that’s ages if I watch one forty-five minute episode, right? Supplemented by my candy crush addiction. GO AWAY I do not want to update. Level 2693 (legitimately) and ahhh my whole brain speaks lateral moves and colourful sweets whilst I miss the next episode option, so it answers as it knows I would pick, sneaky flix. No lives (no life) means I flick through the gram, though I deleted my profile, it’s just a backup, I don’t post… often. Often enough? Fuck, there’s one hour to go, one hour ’til go time. Time for a cuppa? Coffee though right?

But hang on… Hanging on. To your hat. View word count. Hat held… Now that I have technically fulfilled my minimum word duty (gotta double check that), my minimum (my maximum?), then is that not my story writ? I didn’t even know I knew how to use that oldy worldy (real phrase right?) word in a sentence. I hope I do anyway. So does this count?

A quick edit and whatever, let’s submit. Okie dokes, entering my email and shit, shoot, I’ve shot myself in the… I literally just changed it. I was all like “new year, new password” and it was something super smart. But wait… I did reset it right? THINK.

Let’s just try an old one, not even necessarily the old one. Incorrect. Duh because I’d read that article about how often you should switch your passwords, don’t ask me how often. Or maybe I changed it because I couldn’t remember the old one. Or because Apple said it had been leaked — but by who, am I right? I had definitely already used up the exes and my preferred musicians, so it must have been a random ass word nobody should be able to guess — though isn’t it robots these days and they’re smarter than me anyway.

I think it began with a T… trash, trail, train. THINK. Computer says no. Thought so. OK let’s go again…With capitals, without? My lucky number… all four of them. Was there a dash or a hash? Does weed help with memory? Sorry “CBD”.

Erm ooh maybe I used the strong password suggestion? Nah though, I don’t trust my phone to save something that I definitely won’t remember. That doesn’t even make sense because Apple will definitely spy and record all the data it can, and my brain, well it’ll forget it everything.

Ah shit, I’ve got ten minutes and my finger tips are trembling at the T’s face which is taunting me, tripping me up, tantalising and torturing, toying with me. Traumatic. I’m so OTT. One more shot? Typing… Forget it, guess I’ll click reset your password, since it is well and truly forgotten.

I didn't mean to CLOSE THE DAMN WINDOW. What a pain, what pain. Back in business. Hurry up email, hurry up. WHY WON’T YOU REFRESH. Don’t make me resend the link. Each second is taking long. Plus, the story needs to be approved before I can even enter it. I WANT THE PRIZE… I mean the validation, not the money but also the money.

Got it. Good. It’s going down. Let’s go. Set a new password. T… T…It’s going down, I’m yelling TIMBERRR. You better mooove… That’s enough. OK Timber22* it is (hah that’ll catch out the robots in 2023). That’s Timber22*. Let’s make a password you won’t rememberrr.

SHUT UP WAS THAT A PASSWORD I’VE ALREADY USED?!? A rabid beast named angry anxiety eats my stomach as I type something else random, at speed, plus a capital and a number, plus punctuation. I’ll be the ooone you won’t forgeeet. Nah mate, you’ll be another one that my brain will reset as it reloads at the wrong moment and rewrites you, my pertinent phrase with another, different but equally useless lyric, despite having made an almost already forgotten note of it in Notes. LEAVE ME ALONE POP UP WINDOW. X X X. Oops, I coulda opted to save the friggin’ pasword!!!! And save me this whole… Alex, focus and submit this treacherous “story” which I suppose after all, begins with a T. WHAT WAS IT? URGH. Something beginning with T…