Solitude

I sat in solitude without an opportunity of escaping. No internet. No television. No one to converse with. I stared up at the ceiling counting the tiny shiny speckles. Boredom hit hard. I sat up and looked at the room around me. Just an ordinary room with off-white walls that needed painted and no pictures to invent a story. The room was lonely. Empty. I saw a pencil and a notepad sitting on the nightstand. I sighed and looked away.
"No." I said shaking my head. "Not today. I'm tired. I just don't feel like it."
I laid back down and stared at my hands. My mind began to wander. After an eternity, I realized I was biting my nails. Thought after thought swarmed my mind. I wanted to scream.
"Not today, dear friend. I'm tired."
The more I fought the urge to grab the pencil, the more it talked to me. I jumped out of bed and paced the floor. There had to be a way to escape. I looked outside. Snow piled up high against this cabin. The truck was buried under the white blanket.
I plopped back down on the bed. I cringed as I looked over at the notepad. Why was it so hard to pick it up anymore? It called to me all morning when there was nothing to do. I laid back down and closed my eyes. I tossed and turned. I covered my head with the blanket.
I threw the blanket off me as I sat up. "Fine." I said and grabbed the pencil.
As I held the pencil, it's familiarity came back to me in a flood. I picked up the notepad and flipped to a blank page. As I wrote I wondered why did I fight the urge to start again when that was all I wanted to do before.