Chapter 4.

Read Chapter 3 here

After prying the paintbrush from the dogs’ death grip, he ran to join Over Protective Dad and the screaming kid. Guess it was their dog after all. I wish my dog cared to go to the park. My dog does nothing but nap and slobber. Talking about slobber, the paint brush is soaking wet. Yuk. I flick it dry and run the wooden staff through my fingers. Someone paid good money for this. I wonder where the dog found it.

Left-over Mac and Cheese for dinner. As uninspired as my “plain” life.  I should be writing tonight. Not editing this idiot writer’s work. Well I guess he is not THAT much of an idiot. He does have 7 published novels and I have one. (And a half). Iris the one hit wonder. As I settle into a sea of blankets I feel something hard in my pocket. I read through the fort of fleece around me and pull out the paintbrush the dog was using as a chew toy. Maybe it belonged to that red head chick that always sits up there and stares at people. I’ve seen her there a few times, drawing or reading. Always alone. Nothing on TV but reality shows so far removed from reality they might as well be labelled as fiction. Yet I watch it anyway. But I’m just gonna rest my eyes for a minute.



MEEP MEEP MEEP – shit! It’s fucking 9am. I loathe mornings. Sod it, I had an 8:30 meeting. Woken up by my 9am meeting request. Another stellar move by Iris.

How do you tell your boss you simply overslept when the meeting you missed would have secured another book from another idiot writer? So I lied. He took it easy on me after I used the word menstruation. Guys are so easy.

Settled into my desk I start tackling the days emails. 80% Spam.

Delete – “congratulation you have been selected…”

Delete – “VIAGRA now only…”

Flag – “Mc Sushi – Singles Wednesday Wine Special…”

Delete – “Are you lonely…”

100 emails later I happen to glance down at my watch, 4:30pm. Well at least the day went by quickly. While scratching for a hair-elastic in my handbag I find the paintbrush. I just realise how disgusting it is that I have been carrying around this thing. Better look for that hand sanitizer somewhere in my bag too.  “fuck it” I say out loud as I give up the search and pin up my hair with the now sanitized semi chewed paint brush.  On the bus ride home I realised I never phoned my sister for her birthday yesterday. Crap. Well it’s not like we are close or anything. She is just the human who happened to grow up between the same four walls as I did. Ill text her when I get home.

Text : “To Emma: Hey sorry for spacing out yesterday.

                                   Hope you had a fun day.

                                   ~ Iris. “


More left over mac and cheese for dinner. But instead of rotting in front of the telly tonight, I grab my note book and force myself to write something. Hell ANYTHING. Even just jumbled words. Before I actually start to enjoy Keeping Up With The Kardashians.

At first they were just words, they turned into sentences. The sentences started making sense and holy shit. I had just written my first piece of usable work in 6 months.

I take the paint brush out of my hair and call it a night.



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